


Hanged Man, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Case Fic, Drama, M/M, Relationship(s), Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, X-file
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-12
Updated: 2003-10-12
Packaged: 2018-11-20 15:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Set after the events of ÒThe Truth,Ó Gibson Praise is kidnapped and only Alex Krycek can save him. Faced with no other options, Mulder and Scully must follow him to San Francisco to fight the future. Sexual boundaries are broken down when the line between love and hate blurs.





	Hanged Man, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Hanged Man, The

### Hanged Man, The

#### by Bailey MacKenzie

  


"The Hanged Man"  
By: Bailey MacKenzie  
Rated: NC-17 slash  
Category: XR (Mulder/Krycek, MSR, Scully/Krycek UST) Summary: Set after the events of The Truth, Gibson Praise is kidnapped and only Alex Krycek can save him. Faced with no other options, Mulder and Scully must follow him to San Francisco to fight the future. Sexual boundaries are broken down when the line between love and hate blurs. 

* * *

I. Tempestas 

Flattening myself against the windowsill, I concentrate on my breathing. Slow, deep, filling my lungs until my ribcage pushes back against the soft leather lining my back. My body is on autopilot. I can feel the small circle of glass giving way to the sharp knife in my hand, but I don't dare think about it. I keep breathing. The circle finally complete, I hear the glass roll off the windowsill and fall into the wet, heavy earth at my feet. I can hear inside the motel room now. There's a video game soundtrack bubbling cheerfully, bouncing and skipping with enthusiastic encouragement to its player. I almost think about who that player is, but I catch myself. Breathe, just breathe. I force my mind back into white noise and feel my finger pads screwing the silencer onto my gun barrel. 

Almost there. 

Finally, I exhale. I let my thoughts come crashing through the blank slate and sit up, leveling my shoulder steady against the off-white, stucco wall. The video game music pauses as I aim carefully. My mind narrows in on the kill. 

"Don't stand up!" I can hear Gibson's pubescent squeal of terror vibrating through the thin glass. 

Naturally, the dumb fuck stands up. Warm coffee splatters on the agent's pants, and his scream of outrage cuts off into a gurgle of shock. I can hear his body hit the floor at a dead weight, and I'm up at the door turning the handle. 

Gibson is shuffling at a duck-like run towards the bathroom. He's got a blood splatter pattern on his sweatshirt that would make a forensics expert salivate. I watch him struggle to open the small window, and I almost feel sorry for him. He turns then, casting me a look over his shoulder that's somewhere between embarrassment and a scowl. 

I raise my gun at him, but it's really only a formality. We both know it. "Don't run." 

Thankfully, he turns away from the window and stares at me. His eyes are wide and searching under those coke bottle glasses. I hate being around this kid. It makes me feel so exposed. I try to guard my thoughts, but he only blinks at me and shuffles forward. Distracting myself, I scan the room quickly. There are hordes of glossy, discarded candy wrappers on the floor. The agent must have taken pity on the fourteen year old and indulged his whims. I feel a pang of guilt tug in my chest, and promptly crush it. 

He casts a glance at the dead FBI agent, and mumbles, "He had three kids, Krycek." 

I steele myself, replacing pity with anger. "Let's hope he had good insurance." Gibson gives me a knowing glance, and I push him forward into the muggy night. 

We're standing here waiting for our ride, and it feels almost bizarre. Some twisted version of sending him off to summer camp. My walls slide down and I resign, letting him into my head. I let him figure it out. I'm only grateful that I don't have to apologize. 

There's a black sedan pulling up in front of the motel room, exactly as scheduled. Gibson walks forward stiffly, his pudgy fingers lingering over the door handle. He turns around and stares at me one last time, his eyes pulling up and open pleadingly. 

"You don't have to do this," he says. For his situation, his words are surprisingly emotionless. 

"I'll take care of it," I say back, my words an echoing monotone. I nod to the car, encouraging him to get in without a fight. Wiping the condensation off of his glasses, he pulls the car door open and slides in quietly. 

I stand here dumbly, watching the sedan pull out of the parking lot. The two red tail lights begin to fade into the fog, and I wonder if I can keep my promise to him. 

* * *

It was raining again. Not the sort of rain that warranted an umbrella, but the sort that clung to your skin as a constant reminder that you may not realize it, but you were wet. Mulder pulled his jacket collar snug against his neck. Approaching the police line, he flashed on another recent, rainy night and a heartfelt conversation. If it weren't for the grim news tugging at the corners of his mouth, he might have smiled. 

"I'm sorry, Sir, this is an official investigation. You'll have to step back." The flatfoot held up a hand, looking bored and in need of coffee. 

Mulder's impatience flared, "I'm a friend of Agent Dana Scully." Nothing registered on the woman's face. He kept his voice calm, aiming for honesty, "I need to get in there." 

The police officer's eyes focused on him more fully. Giving him a once over, she took in the lanky man's T-shirt and jeans attire. The officer insisted once again, "You'll have to step back, Sir." 

Shifting his weight, Mulder glanced up to see Skinner emerging from the motel room door. His eyes caught Mulder's, and he jogged over. 

"Let him in," Skinner said, flashing his badge. The cop shrugged apathetically, leaving the two men to themselves. 

Mulder ducked under the yellow tape, following on Skinner's heels. "When did you get here?" 

"About ten minutes ago. Scully's inside." Skinner turned around, blocking the doorway. "It doesn't look good, Mulder." 

Not convinced, Mulder pushed past Skinner and into the motel room. Several police officers had converged, along with a photographer, around the body and were chattering loudly. Near the bathroom doorway, Scully was comparing notes with a tall, dark haired detective. 

"Scully," Mulder called, only loudly enough to get her attention. She turned and looked at him, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. Ducking his head and looking around the room, he shifted his weight back and forth- bouncing on his heels. 

"You'll excuse me," Scully whispered politely to the detective. Trotting over to Mulder, she exhaled and arched her eyebrows. "Morning," she offered. 

Appreciating her exasperation, Mulder straightened his posture. "Skinner says there isn't much?" 

"It's looking pretty clean. No hair and fiber, no fingerprints, no struggle, no witnesses." Scully mirrored the look Mulder was giving her. "I know." 

"There is something," Skinner's voice grumbled behind them. Both of them turned towards him hopefully. Motioning for them to follow, he led them outside to the flower patch. 

All three of them crouched down. 

"Here," Skinner pointed to a footprint in the dirt. "And here," his hand raised to the quarter-sized cut in the glass window. 

Mulder brought his fingers to his mouth, staring at the two points. "Why would he be so careless to leave a footprint if everything else points to a professional hit?" 

"Assuming it's a he," Scully added, carefully sticking a red flag in the soil. 

Both of the men nodded, although neither had their doubts. "I thought of the same thing," Skinner said, straightening. 

"Is it a message?" 

"I don't know, Mulder," Scully said, moving the trio away from the spot to allow officers to probe Skinner's discovery. They waded into the parking lot, turning their backs on the press. "You think this was left on purpose?" 

Mulder nodded as Skinner broke in, "Isn't it possible that it was just a careless mistake?" He asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. Both agents shook their heads negatively, their minds working in tandem. 

Scully spoke for them, "The amount of caution that would go into kidnapping Gibson.." 

"He'd sense anything unordinary right away and alert Agent Fuller. And from that wound, he was shot in the back. The shooter took them by surprise," Mulder monotoned, his eyes squinting at the crime scene in the light rain. Scully nodded the affirmative. 

"So," Skinner stared at them both, "what's it mean?" 

Mulder and Scully cast glances at each other, not yet ready to share their assumption. Mulder turned and headed back into the motel room wordlessly, getting a few curious glances at his plainclothes. Scully watched him taking in the scene, oblivious to everything else. She turned back to Skinner, who was looking somewhat constipated and impatient. 

Her mouth formed a soft `o' as she searched for words. Blanking, she finally sighed and shrugged. "I might have something for you at the end of the day, Sir. But.. right now.." 

Skinner nodded, "I'll go back to the Hoover building and start building you a team. Keep me in the loop, Agent Scully." 

* * *

Even though I'm here on business, I take a moment to inhale the wonderful smells soaking the restaurant. That greasy, exotic smell that invariably clouds Chinatowns across the country. With a faint smile, I refocus my eyes on Mr. Lee and rattle off the rest of my order in Chinese. He keeps grinning and nodding his head while he writes, pleased with either my large order or my command of the language. I've been here at least a dozen times, and I've never figured out exactly why he's always so happy to see me. 

While he slowly rings me up, I tighten my fingers around the cooler handle and look at the mirrored walls. Three exits. One fire escape. Five tables are dining, and three of them are Triad. I watch one man in an Armani suit sip at his tea, his cuffs pulling back just enough to catch a glimpse of the intricate blue tattoos starting at his thin wrists. Okay, make that four tables Triad. 

"Fifteen minute," Mr. Lee's broken English brings me back. I must have a puzzled look on my face, because suddenly he smiles brightly and gives me my total in Chinese. 

Throwing two twenties on the counter, I nod, pick up the cooler again, and make my way through the restaurant. I can feel all eyes on me, so I glance menacingly at the thug I know as "Joe" and hold up the cooler. He leans his head back and nods. I try very hard to resist rolling my eyes, and ascend the back stairway. 

True to form, Lin Chung-cheng doesn't have any guards posted up here. I wrestle with the door handle, grateful no one is around to see my cripple-act, and walk in on a blow job. 

Without saying a word, I barge in and throw the cooler on the table. Lin is quickly buttoning up his pants while his whore paws at him. 

"This one makes twenty-five," I say, in English now. I back away from the wretched cooler, glad to be rid of it. Smoothing back his black hair, Lin opens it and inspects the fresh organ. I don't even want to look at it. As soon as I do, I remember the last image of leaving Mr. Dahlby, a tourist from Pakistan, fully sedated in a bathtub full of ice an hour ago. He should be waking up any minute, poor bastard. I swallow and bring my eyes up under my eyelashes. "I want my payment." 

Lin pulls his concubine onto his lap, ignoring me. I take a step closer and clench my jaw. I don't have time for this bullshit and he knows it. 

"Mr. Dadtka," Lin's voice comes out wispy and sharp, and I feel myself wince. "We have so many other payments. You do not want something better? Something make you feel good? Drugs, girls? I have lots of girls." He squeezes his whore's breast to emphasize his point, and she rubs his crotch while looking at me under layers of eyeliner. 

"You know what I want," I grit out. I don't appreciate being dicked around, and my Chinese food is getting cold. 

Finally, Lin sighs and stands up abruptly, the girl dropping to the floor with a heavy thud. For a second, I think she might cry. Instead, she sulks at me and tries to rub her ass seductively. I turn my attention to the small, but powerful, Asian man dropping a folder onto the desk. Glancing at the fire escape, I approach the desk and open the folder. 

"Why you want doctors, Dadtka? So boring." 

I ignore him, flipping through the file. Twelve separate doctors, their blank-faced mug shots clipped to each page. I skim one of them for the hell of it. Busted for opium dealing. Nice. 

"They'll be in San Francisco in three days. Like you ask." 

Glancing up, I feel my face cringe in disgust. Lin is rubbing his crotch all over the girls face again. Killing him is going to feel so good. 

I scoop up the folder, tucking it into the back of my jeans. "It's people like you that shouldn't be allowed to breed, Lin." I scowl at him and pull my gun, silencer still attached, out of my waistband. He barely has time to translate what I said before I shoot him between his black eyes. 

I've always been surprised how little mess that shot makes, but it's obviously enough. Shivering next to Lin's crumpled body, the concubine is whimpering and wiping at the blood on her face. Before she has time to start screaming, I stride over to her and wrench her up by her wrist. 

"Do you speak English?" 

She stares at me, horrified. She's still in shock. I repeat what I said in Chinese. She starts to cry, clutching at me, and pleads that she doesn't. I don't want blood all over my jacket, so I drag her over to the water pipe in the wall and throw her a pair of handcuffs. 

This time in Chinese, I instruct, "Handcuff yourself to the pipe. If you scream, I'll shoot you." I hold my gun up to her temple, and she starts shaking. By the time the handcuffs click, her eyes gloss over and roll back in her head. 

I stare at her slumped body a second, and concede to rearranging her so her neck won't crick. Shutting the door to Lin's office, I descend the stairs and wonder when the hell I became so pussy whipped. I check myself in one of the mirrored walls, and stride through the restaurant. 

Lee has my order on the front desk. A greasy brown paper bag (that smells delicious enough to make my stomach growl), has my alias printed on it in neat, Chinese letters. I grab it, casting a glance over my shoulder, and walk out into DC Chinatown. 

Shit. Does it ever stop raining? 

* * *

Scully twirled the plastic spoon over her tongue, licking off all the traces of Yoplait. She watched the other agents chatting and bustling about the make-shift office that had been set up for Gibson Praise's kidnapping. Skinner had definitely pulled through for her on this one. She stretched, her lower back popping, and signed on to her email account. While the modem gurgled and screeched, Scully discarded her paltry lunch and debated skipping this lunch break in favor of getting back to work, or taking a long run with her jogging group. Both had their merits. 

The computer dinged, welcoming her to her FBI email account. Not surprisingly, she only had one item of personal mail. Deleting much of the FBI's inter-office email, she pulled up the mysterious item. 

Subject: Lunch To: dkscully@fbi.gov   
From: alluser1@fbi.gov (Anonymous) 

Scully, Meet me at Little Viet Garden, Arlington. 12:00PM. It's important. 

Scully smiled. Mulder had been doing everything to stick his nose in this investigation since yesterday morning. Of course, she didn't blame him. Gibson had apparently been taking care of him these past months, and as soon as they brought him to DC.. all of Mulder's fears had been realized. Sometimes she despised that Mulder was right so often. Deleting the email and grabbing her coat, she headed for the elevators. 

* * *

I can see Scully walking up to the front entrance from my table on the veranda. She looks frazzled, which comes as no surprise really. But if there is something that I've learned about Scully in my few encounters with the woman, she never gives up. Must be something she picked up from Mulder. Or maybe they bring out the tenacious quality in each other. How sweet. 

I watch her smile, tight lipped, at the Vietnamese hostess. She must be having trouble because she's making hand gestures and I can lip-read her saying "tall man," in drawn out English. Picking at my cha gio, I figure she deserves the hassle. She's twenty minutes late, after all. I don't want to look over ambitious, so I stare out onto the Potomac before swinging my head around to greet my lunch date and our waiter. 

I avoid looking at her for the moment, and ask the waiter, "Ong ba co bia khong?" Maybe I'm showing off a little. 

He nods humbly. 

"Toi mua cai nay." 

Scully is staring at me, stopped dead in her tracks, with her full, unusually shaped mouth hanging open. It's rather unlady like. 

"I was told you were dead." 

I keep my face blank, "I've heard that, too." 

Neither of us say anything for a few seconds. Eventually, Scully blinks rather unevenly and licks the corner of her mouth. If I were attracted to her, I might think that was erotic. 

"I thought you would be Mulder." 

I really don't know how to respond to that. So, I lean back further into the shade of my table's awning and motion for her to sit. She looks like she'd rather swallow formaldehyde, so I try to break the ice. 

"They say the best Vietnamese food is in Arlington because the Spooks came back from the war and wanted authentic places to eat near Langly. You can't get this sort of stuff in the city." I point to her plate, "You're late. I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of ordering you roasted squab." 

It's not really the reaction I was going for. There's a small line creasing between Scully's eyebrows. She looks like someone who has spent hours trying to crack the New York Times crossword puzzle, and has now come to doubt their own sanity. I must have done something right though, because she stares at her plate and sits. Laboriously. 

I let her work out whatever she's wrestling with. I'm on a time limit, but I never rush my meals. Finally, she licks the corner of her mouth again (must be a habit), and looks up at me. 

"What do you want, Krycek?" 

I decide not to bullshit. The grapevine tells me she's had a rough few weeks. Partially from my own paranoia, and partially because I want her attention, I lean forward. "A while ago, Spender offered you a cure. A cure to all human disease. You were a pawn to him, but I assure you Scully, that cure was real." 

I pause. She's rolled her eyes to the side, ready to dismiss me. 

"Spender destroyed it. But, I can give it to you." 

Scully scoffs, exhaling with a punch of air that sounds like a humorless laugh. She rolls her blue eyes back at me. "Right," she whispers, dripping with skepticism. 

Of course, I wasn't expecting this to be an easy sell. But just once I'd like to do it without the smoke and mirrors. I feel my jaw tightening, and a crease forming across my nose. I should have a little more patience, but fuck. I don't. 

"Cut the self-righteous indignation, Scully. You can't fall back on your skepticism anymore. It's trite." 

She looks taken aback. Trust me, Scully. I have no problem beating up girls. I'm not Mulder. 

"I don't have time for your doubts," I growl out, casting a glance at an elderly couple being seated near us. I turn my eyes back to her, aware I'm still scowling, and force my voice deadly serious. "I'm offering you a deal." 

"Why should I make deals with you, Krycek? You're filthy." 

I can't help being smug, "Because. I can get you Gibson Praise." 

She sits back, looking for all the world like she's about to throw up with disbelief. Shaking her head, she gets up from the table abruptly. I stare at her calmly, squinting a little in the sun. 

"You've got a lot of nerve, Krycek." She swallows. Bile, I presume, from the face she's making. She looks like she could probably ream me out, but I know Scully. She's too collected for that. 

"You're looking on the wrong coast," I say, purposefully vague. 

Giving me an icy glare, she turns around and makes her way back through the restaurant. 

She never even touched her squab. 

* * *

"Scully." 

"I've decided I need the Bowflex. I want abs like Mr. Universe," Mulder deadpanned across the phone line. He could hear Scully's faint amusement in her silence, so he persisted. "I ordered us one this morning. It will go well with your decor." 

"I don't have much more to tell you, Mulder." Scully shifted the phone between her shoulder and her ear, squinting at the lab results she'd been handed on her way in. "Agent Douglas just handed me the forensics on that shoe print." 

"And?" 

"I'm looking at it now." Mulder could hear Scully folding back sheets of paper over the line. "Size nine and a half, left leather boot. Hugo Boss. Made in 1999, Winter catalogue. Our shooter stresses more weight on his inner sole." 

"That's it?" 

"That's it." 

Mulder mulled it over, watching the info-mercial play in mute on Scully's television. He worried his lip slightly, "Those are pretty expensive shoes for your run-of-the-mill goon." 

Scully set the papers down on her knees, staring off into space. Her mind immediately made the connection, but not having told Mulder about her lunch date yesterday, she wasn't ready to bring it up. As far as Mulder knew, Alex Krycek was six feet under. "I brought the results down to Doggett and Reyes, but they aren't here. Kersh's secretary says they were sent out on assignment late last night." 

"Looks like you're on your own. Want me to come up?" Mulder's offer was hopeful. 

Scully dismissed him casually. He'd be more trouble than he was worth just to get him in the building. "No, it's okay Mulder. I'll call you when I have something better." 

* * *

I can hear Scully's voice as I make my way down the hallway. I have no idea why she is down here, my information told me this office has gone to new agents. I vaguely wonder if I should catch her on the elevator instead, when I hear her say Mulder's name. She must be on the phone. 

Slinking into the dimly lit office, I plaster myself behind the door's shadow. Lucky me. She's facing the back wall, staring whimsically at that stupid poster. How does that thing manage to resurrect itself continuously? I watch her hang up the phone and stare at it. She even looks like she's about to touch it affectionately, but then she pulls her hand back and laughs to herself. 

I brace myself as she slides off the desk and turns for the door. She sees me right away and gives a sharp inhale, going for her gun. I don't move. She didn't have her holster on when she had her back turned. She quickly realizes what I already know, and backs into a filing cabinet. Not exactly survival instinct there, Agent. I keep still, so she knows I'm not a threat. 

She squints at me in the light coming through the small window, and gives a sigh of relief. I know I'm playing innocent here, but since when does Scully feel relieved to see me? Maybe buying her lunch wasn't such a good idea. 

"Do you always skulk around in the shadows, Krycek?" 

I can't help it. I actually smile. I've gone soft, it's official. I step out of the shadows and blink, getting used to the little light there is in here. 

"I have something for you," I say. She stares at me disdainfully. "Incentive." 

"Incentive for _what_?" If words could wound, Agent Scully. If words could wound. 

"For your trust." I ignore her scoff and pull a disk out of my back pocket. "The DAT tape. Translated." 

I throw it on the desk. She keeps staring at me, and I'm about to get uncomfortable, when she looks at the disk. 

"You're lying." She doesn't sound convinced. 

I blink back at her, and barely breathe out, "You can't afford to take that chance, can you?" 

She fingers the disk, and I know I've got her snagged. Perfect. She may not believe me, but I can read her facial expressions. She's curious to my motivations. 

"You said you can get me Gibson Praise?" She tries to play nonchalant, but comes off obvious. Hasn't she realized yet that interrogation tactics are Mulder's strong suit? 

"I can." My bait is juicy enough for this go round, so I'll leave it off here. I nod to the disk, "I can get you more than that, too." 

"Why are you giving me all this?" Hard ass Scully has made an appearance. The look she's giving me would make any man want to drop to his knees and start confessing. Fucking Catholics. I don't know how Mulder does it. 

We've been standing down here having our little chat for too long. I look towards the door silently, and then back at her under my eyelashes. "Tomorrow night, ten o'clock. Meet me at the Holocaust memorial." 

* * *

"Reefer Madness." 

Scully came out of the kitchen, carrying two Hungry Man dinners in her oven-mitt clad hands. "What?" 

"Reefer Madness," Mulder held up the video box enthusiastically. "It's classic, Scully. How can you not love 1950s drug paranoia?" 

She dropped the piping hot cardboard trays on her coffee table and sunk into the sofa. "I sent Jack out for money, and he came back with magic beans." 

Mulder pretended to pout as he fed the tape into the VCR. "I swear, Scully. You'll love it." He popped the tab on a Bud Light and handed it to her. "It'll help you relax." 

Scully gave him a doubtful look, and then made a disgusted face at his choice of beer. As he settled into the crook between couch and coffee table, Mulder smiled around a mouthful of processed corn. 

"Mulder. You really know how to make a girl feel special." 

The black-and-white began, and the two of them choked down their dinners in relative silence. After an hour, Scully was finally letting her conscious mind float into the banality of the film, when Mulder turned and looked like he was going to say something. 

She arched her eyebrow at him, picking at the last of her shriveled chicken-fried steak. 

"I've been thinking about that shoe." 

"Mulder," she tried to whine and sound maternally patronizing at the same time. 

He held up his hands, "No, no. Hear me out." Scully sighed and he dove in, "Don't you think it's odd he puts his weight on his inner soles? We walk from heel to toe. So this guy must have a distinctive gait. He could limp, or be bowlegged." 

Scully gave Mulder a look that let him know he was reaching. 

"Look, Scully, all I'm saying is this guy has something distinctive about him physically. He's carrying his weight wrong." 

"Okay. And?" 

Mulder pursed his lips slightly. "And it could help you find Gibson." 

Scully opened her mouth to retort, and quickly snapped it shut again. She sat up straighter, putting her beer can on the table. "You think I'm not doing everything I can?" 

"I didn't say that." He clenched his jaw. Turning back towards the television, he muttered under his breath, "Although it has been two days." 

Scully's eyes narrowed. Getting up, she headed for the door, steaming. 

"Where are you going?" 

Whirling around, with a tight face, she snapped, "To find Gibson Praise." 

* * *

I've been standing out here for quite some time. As usual, Scully is late. How is it possible a Navy captain raised a daughter who can't show up on time? I press my hand under my stump, trying to keep warm in the chilly air. I have no doubt in my mind that she's showing up tonight. Scully is smart, but she's also a bleeding heart. Anything to save the kiddies. 

I see two headlights pull up along the street, and the car engine shuts off. It has to be Scully, parking is illegal on the street unless you're government exempt. I slide behind one of the marble statues just in case. Eventually, a small figure gets out of the car and crisply walks up to the memorial. 

"Krycek?" 

So much for subtlety. 

I don't want her broadcasting my name anymore, so I step out from my hiding place. She's a good 10 feet away, and I'm an easy mark out in the open, so I make sure to scuff my boot to get her attention. Scully turns around, and even in the moonlight, I can tell she's upset. 

"Have you read the disk?" I keep my voice at a low whisper. 

"Some of it." She looks at me wearily. "Things have been.. hectic." 

What is this? Late night girl talk with Dana Scully? I circle her just enough to get her into a better light, and I can see she's been crying. Something must flicker on my face, because she tightens her posture. 

"Just tell me what you want." 

Time to drop the bomb. "I need your help." I'd expected her to look at me like she has been these last two meetings, but this time she just looks tired. "I need you to head a team of doctors I've assembled in San Francisco." 

"For what?" I swear I can't hear a trace of skepticism in her voice. 

Seize the moment, Alex. 

"Purity Control." 

"What does this have to do with Gibson Praise?" 

"Everything." 

Bingo. There it is. That `You're full of shit' face I've been waiting for. I'm a little relieved it finally came. Passive Scully throws me off. 

"I can give you all the answers, Scully," I try to infuse sincerity into my voice. The problem is, when I try to sound sincere, I come off like I'm lying. It's ironic. 

There is a rustle near the street, and without thinking, I've grabbed Scully and pulled her and myself flush against the sculpture. My sig is pointed towards the shadows and I can't even remember drawing it. 

"Let her go!" Mulder's voice echoes across the giant memorial carved into the city. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

I turn to Scully, glaring, and hiss, "You brought him here?" 

"I said let her go!" Mulder's out in the open, both hands on his gun, like a fucking idiot. He's creeping towards me as a well trained G-man should. 

"Mulder, it's okay," Scully's voice floats over my shoulder. He stops prowling, looking bewildered. I feel a little disoriented myself. Shouldn't this situation be reversed? 

Before I can let her go, Scully has sidestepped me and all I can do is wave my prosthetic at her. I want to tell her she's being stupid, but I only growl. She's got her hands up between us, encouraging us to lower our guns. Yeah, right. 

"It's okay," She repeats, soothingly, to Mulder. "I came here because I wanted to." 

He looks wounded. That's cute. Maybe I'm a masochist, but I take this moment to step into the moonlight. The look on his face is priceless. 

"Mulder," Scully's voice is warning. 

He levels his gun at me again, "Scully, get away from him! It's not him!" 

She looks at me a minute, and my heart skips a beat for just a second. That dumb, beautiful fuck is going to ruin everything. I'm running out of time and I need Scully on a plane by tomorrow morning. Willing or not. Thankfully, she breathes heavily and turns back to him. 

"Mulder, put the gun down. It's okay." 

There must be more going on between them than I thought, because after some serious eye voodoo.. he actually does. He looks confused as hell, but at least he's listening. 

Scully sighs, and I can see her breath float up in a puff of smoke. "He's going to help us get Gibson back." There is something underlying what she says, but I don't know what it is. He's giving her a strange look. 

These two and their "looks." I'm getting impatient. I move forward and glower at Mulder. I'm pissed he's ruined my hard work, and now he's wasting my time. He looks great though. Tan. Only Mulder could come out of military prison looking well fed. 

He looks at me now. "You're dead." 

Mulder. Mulder and his asinine, unimportant questions. Of course he has to bring that up at a time like this. I don't have any more time to waste, so I turn to them both and lay it out. "The supersoldiers used my DNA to clone me. I knew of at least two. I spent several months chasing them around the world." 

The intrepid duo are just chomping at the bit here. 

"The clones were killing off my contacts," I explain. "I destroyed them, only to learn of a third. The ones I eliminated were decoys. The third one was here in DC. The one you saw killed. I tried to get here to do it myself, but I was.. sidetracked." 

Mulder is shaking his head, "I was there. You.. it.. bled red blood." 

I stare at him under my eyelashes. I've seen the surveillance tape. He just stood there and didn't bat an eye, the mother fucker. I can't say it doesn't hurt to watch. 

I give him my best conspiracy look, feeling the need to yank his chain, and purr, "There is a lot you don't know." 

"Why would they clone you?" Scully looks skeptical. Surprising? No. 

Before I can answer, Mulder jumps in. "Who better? Nobody knows what side he's on, he has access to everything." 

It's late. My plans have been spoiled. I have a plane to catch. I cock my head at him and growl, "I'm on your side." 

"Now you tell me." 

Scully is rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Okay." 

We both look at her, but I ask. "Okay?" 

"Okay. I'll do it." She looks up at me, and it looks like she hasn't slept in a week. "Just tell me you can guarantee Gibson's safety." 

"You'll do what?" Mulder is sticking his big nose everywhere. 

I'm too elated to care. Having a willing Scully is to my advantage. "I can. I need you to fly out tomorrow morning. Pack bags for a week. If you need anything else, I can have them delivered." 

"Hey. You'll do what?" Mulder insists. 

"I'm going to San Francisco." She's being curt. I look between the both of them and it dawns on me. Lovers spat. 

"With Krycek?" 

"Yes." She gives him a challenging look. 

I feel like I'm eavesdropping. 

Mulder squares his shoulders, glaring at me. After a second, he turns back to Scully. "I'm going with you." 

"I don't need you," I interject. Don't need you, and you'll get in my way, but seeing you is addicting. 

He looks like he might hit me, and then that fades into something else. Something he's never looked at me like before. I blink. 

"I'm coming," he says, like he has the final word in everything. 

I'm freezing now, and I don't like being in the open for more than an hour. I just don't have time to argue. "Fine. Wait for your airline tickets tomorrow morning. Fly separately." 

They both look a little relieved at that news. 

"I'll buy you both two sets of tickets, as a diversion. Scully, call into work with a family emergency tomorrow. Take a week off. Mulder, you'll fly under an alias. If Skinner calls, verify Scully's story." 

They both look like they could bombard me with questions, but I have to get out of here. I turn on my heel, my phantom arm itching, and leave them to argue about who gets what side of the bed tonight. 

II. Sacrificum 

Balancing her duffel bag over her shoulder, Scully pulled open the manual elevator door. She stared into the North Beach loft, barely believing her eyes. The place was gorgeous. She fumbled in her pocket, pulling out the scrap of paper with a scribbled address. This was it. 

Pink light was streaming in the landscape windows, pouring over the hardwood floors in geometric, even rectangles. Sparsely furnished, she noted, stepping into the apartment and dumping her luggage near the elevator. Rich brown leathers and warm, dark wood pieces. There was so little, but enough to make the place feel polished. Admiring the placement of the couch facing the sunrise, Scully wondered if it was Feng Shui. 

She walked over to the windows, looking out over the city and watched the sun peek over the ocean. Folding her arms over her chest, she rubbed her elbows and almost got lost in the moment. But sounds in the kitchen reminded her of where she was. 

* * *

I can hear Scully walking around in my living room. I know it's her, because Mulder would be barging around making his presence known. I go back to peeling my shrimp, clamping down on every control instinct screaming through my body. I haven't let anyone snoop around my life in over a decade. This week should be interesting. 

Scully finally appears peering into my kitchen, looking shocked. I glance at her and keep peeling shrimp. 

"Were you followed?" Okay, I haven't relinquished all control. I know we have two hours before work officially starts, but I can't help talking shop. 

She's staring at the garlic cloves hanging from the wooden rafters, and then at what I'm doing. She looks puzzled. Yes, Scully. I know how to peel shrimp. I'm not a circus act. 

"No." She moves towards me, looking at the seafood I have laid out on the counter. "Nobody in their right mind flies at that hour, Krycek." 

I smile. She's got a point. I'm just precautious. I've worked years on this project, I can't have it fucked up now. I turn to look at her, and she's staring at me like she's trying to figure me out. 

She gives a tight smile, like she's trying really hard, "So is this really your place or did you get lucky in Russian roulette?" 

"It's one of many," I retort, feeling defensive. I watch her face and realize I took her wrong. She was trying to be nice. I don't blame her. It's too early to talk about work. Forcing myself to soften a little, I offer, "This one is my favorite though." 

She arches her eyebrows, looking stiff and uncomfortable. She's probably anxious for Mulder to show up and start beating on me. 

Think, Alex. Think. I stare at the bowl of peeled shrimp, and suddenly I've grabbed it and shoved it under her nose. "Shrimp?" 

She looks startled. 

"They're fresh." I'm trying really hard here. Finally, she takes one and sits on a bar stool. I put the bowl down and watch her bite into it gingerly. One of her eyebrows goes up as she chews. 

It's very innocent, almost comical. For a second, I feel myself relax. I can almost see why Mulder gets along with her so well. There are moments she lets you in, and when you're in, it isn't half bad. 

"Delicious," she mumbles, swallowing. 

I nod. "The Richmond New May Wah supermarket, on Clement. Best seafood you'll find in the bay." 

She looks at me, curious again, and steals another shrimp. I let that one go, she's probably starving. I did book her on Southwest. 

"You spend a lot of time in San Francisco?" She's digging again, in that obvious way. 

My natural reaction is to clam up and be vague, but somewhere inside I know so much of that is over. I'm trying to start anew here, and Scully is a big part of that. I'll have to build some sort of trust. What a foreign word. I look at her, eating my fresh shrimp in my kitchen, and figure it's better I start now. When Mulder gets here, things will be complicated. 

I concentrate on snapping the head off a prawn. "Not as much as I'd like. I enjoy this city. Copenhagen is nice, too. I probably shouldn't, but," I cast her a glance, "I'm more attached to this apartment than I should be." 

She's got her mouthful, so she arches her eyebrow in a silent question. 

"You can't attach yourself to possessions in my line of work." 

Her face shuts down. I can see it. She swallows slowly, and looks out into the living room at the windows. Something is going on with Scully. I may not know her well, and I'm certainly not experienced with women, but she's always been fairly easy to read once you figure her out. 

I gather up a heap of shrimp skeletons and walk them over to the trash can. "You're dating Mulder?" I make it casual. Still, she looks hostile. Her forehead is creasing and she looks angry. She must think I've been spying on her. Please, Scully, give me some credit. 

I save my ass quickly, "The way you two were acting last night. Things aren't going well." 

She tightens her mouth, but the crease disappears between her eyebrows. I've hit a nerve. "I don't think that is your business, Krycek." Her voice is softer than it should be if she's trying to sound tough. 

I open the fridge, retrieving imported chorizo. Grabbing a cutting board from a peg in the wall, and a cutting knife, I set it in front of her. 

"Finely diced, please." 

Her thoughts are cut off, and she stares at the knife a moment, before picking it up and getting to work. "You cook?" 

"I cook." I wave my hand at the mess in front of us, "Paella tonight. You'll be hungry, trust me." 

She's concentrating on getting her dicing just right, and I think she forgets who she is bantering with for a second. She actually smiles, "I never thought of you as a cook." 

I shrug, going to work on pulling the tough muscle from the side of my sea scallops. "It's relaxing. It never changes. You can disappear for three months, and come back, and they'll still be making gai lan the same way." 

We're both silent a moment, and I add, "Plus, I do a lot of travel. You get accustomed to good food." 

She looks like a little light bulb has gone off in her head, and sure enough she blurts one of her obvious interrogation questions at me again. "When did you learn Vietnamese?" 

I feel my walls wanting to come up again. I cast a glance at her, sizing up just how much I want to reveal this morning. I know she's digging, but really, does it matter? Running and hiding with the rats is over now. Time to come out into the sun, Alex. 

"I'm not fluent." She looks surprised. "I was stationed in Hong Kong when I enlisted. Chinese linguist. You should have seen them shit their pants when they got their hands on a Russian/Chinese linguist." 

She's wielding that knife in midair, and I'm beginning to doubt giving it to her. "You enlisted?" 

I smirk, "Navy." 

Her jaw drops. She looks relaxed and innocent. I actually think she might be having fun. Imagine that. Scully is having fun with me. 

"YOU were a squid!?" She nearly smiles, and then she realizes it and regains her composure. 

I nod, "Navy seal before the Feds." I leave off what came next. 

She cocks her head, looking pleased with herself, "Well doesn't that explain a lot." 

We both go back to our respective tasks, but after a few minutes she pipes up. I almost thought we were going to have a moment, too. 

"How many languages do you speak?" 

I squint, and not because I'm getting scallop juice everywhere. "Fully?" 

She shrugs, moving on to the next link of chorizo. "Enough to get around." 

"Thirteen." 

She looks impressed. I smile. I don't know why. It's been a long time since I've been able to share something about me. Impressing the unflappable Dr. Scully with it is a bonus. 

She must be following my line of thought, because suddenly she seems uncomfortable and looks at the clock on my oven. "When did you book Mulder's flight for?" 

"You didn't talk to him this morning?" She gives me a stone face. "He should be here any minute, if he's on time." 

That placates her and after she's done with the chorizo, I hand her a red bell pepper. She looks like she might not do it, but then she starts in and nibbles on a slice. 

I watch her carefully. I don't know why I do it, but I do. "One of the hardest things with Mulder is not letting him take over your life." I must have a death wish. 

She looks up, shifting slightly on her barstool. She isn't hostile, but her words are even, "How would you know that, Krycek?" 

I know Mulder has told her about our love affair when I worked for the bureau, so I decide not to bring up the obvious. I turn back to my preparations, pulling ceran wrap over the bowl of shrimp (not an easy task in my situation). "You have to let him be who he is or he doesn't open up. But, sometimes in doing so, you bend over backwards so much that you lose your balance." 

I put the bowl in the fridge, and pull out a leftover bottle of wine. I hold it up, "Drink?" 

She's sitting very still; muddling over why the hell I'm giving her relationship advice, I suspect. She blinks, breathing a sigh. 

"Yes, please." I don't blame her. It's early, but not drinking before noon is an American concept. She'll be fine. 

She pulls her hair behind her ear as I'm pouring, "You think I've lost my balance? Because I haven't." 

I hand her the glass and lean against the counter, it's then I realize I'm barefoot and might want to look more professional before Mulder gets here. 

I look over at her, and she looks defensive. "No. I think it's easy to get wrapped up in what Mulder wants, and forget what you want. I heard about New Mexico." 

She's trying to keep her defenses up, but there's still something lost in the back of her eyes. I know what it's like to love Mulder, Scully. 

"You keep a regular update on our lives, Krycek?" 

I ignore the jab. "I've asked you here to be a doctor. Maybe you should enjoy it. Mulder's only here for the ride." Speak of the devil, my security system beeps and the elevator starts whirring downstairs. I tighten my mouth, "Don't forget that." 

She goes back to dicing the pepper, and we both hold our breath while the elevator doors open. It's been a strange morning, and I'm not entirely sure what Mulder's presence will add to the dynamic. There is a loud thump of luggage hitting the floor. Bastard, if that scratches the wood.. 

And then he's here. Standing in the entry way scowling at me. I feel my walls locking into place, and I stare back at him icily. 

"Were you followed?" I echo my earlier question. 

"Cut the bullshit, Krycek, and tell us why we're here." 

There he goes again, talking for Scully. Doesn't that annoy her? I glance at her, and her face is pretty tight. I'm not sure why, but I feel like standing up for her. 

" _Scully_ is here to help me." 

She pipes up, cutting the tension as best as she can. "You mentioned purity control?" 

I nod. Standing in the kitchen in my bare feet and discussing the fate of the human race isn't exactly how I pictured this, but I'm flexible. 

"You have experience with the project. I watched it go down hill when the rebels started cleaning up. The last centers were destroyed after El Rico Air Force base. Funding dropped and the doctors who weren't killed scuttled back into the woodwork." I cast a glance at Mulder. He's making every effort not to look at Scully. 

Turning back to her, I explain, "I tried to get the original tissue sample, but it was gone. I've scrapped together what I can- but I need you to connect the dots. I'm not a doctor. I don't know if anything is salvageable." 

"Why bother salvaging a dead project?" Mulder's voice is flat, hopeless. 

I blink incredulously, "To fight." 

Mulder and Scully look at each other. They don't believe me. I feel anger flare up, but clamp down on it. I'm not here to prove my loyalty. They'll just have to figure it out. 

"I've been collecting supplies for this long before the project died. It may be gone now, but that doesn't change the work. I've got data on all the original experiments: Operation Paper Clip, the Litchfield project, the Unit 731 experiments." 

Mulder quips dryly to Scully, "Hope you brought your reading glasses." 

Ignoring him, I try to stress my point. "If we can resurrect the project, we can fight. There is still time." 

"How do we know you won't use us?" He's talking for Scully again. "How do we know you won't take the cure and use it for yourself, like the Smoking Man?" Underneath his anger, I see despair flicker. I wonder if they got to him more than he thinks at the military prison. 

I spit back, "You'll just have to trust me." 

They both huff, and I almost tell them both to shove it up their ass. I better take a different approach or I'm going to lose it. 

I turn to Scully again. I can deal with her. She's rational. "If we can successfully re-create the human/alien hybrid, not only can we resist colonization, we can cure all human disease. In the last stages of purity control, they added a third component, one that eradicated previous complications." 

"What was it?" she looks genuinely interested, thank God. 

I shake my head, "I don't know. Some sort of alien genome. It's not on the DAT tape, that I can tell. All those experiments failed, until Cassandra Spender. And I couldn't find a seller before the project went under." 

Mulder makes a disgusted noise. I glare at him. Get off your fucking high horse. 

"We were told purity control was a smoke screen," Scully glances at Mulder, and he nods vindication. She looks back at me, on the brink of skepticism. "That the syndicate was just buying time to develop the vaccine?" 

It's my turn to huff. I shift, shaking my head, "You really think they would do something so selfless, Scully? That was all about the cold war. Beating the Russians." I decide not to bring up Bill Mulder's roll in that. Old wounds, and far too many sharp objects in the kitchen. 

Her eyebrow is about to hit her hairline with disbelief. I snarl, smirking, "Far worse atrocities have been committed for pettier reasons." 

They both look at each other, speaking that famous unspoken language they do so well. I admit, I'm a little jealous. I'd rather not sit around and watch them play googley-eyes though, so I drop my voice and lean forward, "Think about it. The alien/human hybrids are just as immune to the virus as an inoculated human. There was no other reason to steal the Russian vaccine, besides petty jealousy." 

Mulder is chewing his lip. I'm a little distracted when his graveled voice pours out of the mouth I'm staring at. "So, if Scully can't find this third component in these files, how will we re-create the hybrid? We've seen what those experiments can do when they go wrong, Krycek. We won't be a part of that." 

"We have two options," I breathe. "We can steal the alien genome back from the rebels. Or, we can gamble. We can use Gibson Praise." 

Now I have their attention. 

"If you hurt him, Krycek.." Mulder starts to move menacingly towards me, but Scully places a gentle hand on his arm. That's new. She's always been passive when he's getting his ya-ya's out on me. I glance at her, and she gives me some indecipherable look. 

She whispers to Mulder under a shield of red hair, "He already promised Gibson would be safe." 

Cue the appreciative golf clap. Thank you, Agent Scully, for paying attention. 

"While you play puzzle today, Mulder and I will work on finding Gibson." 

"Finding?" Mulder growls. 

I stare at him under my eyelashes. I really don't need to repeat what I said. 

"You said you knew where he was. You said you could get him for us," He's practically yelling at me. Ungrateful, beautiful sonof -a-bitch. 

"I can." 

Scully interjects. She's good at that. "When do we start?" 

I'm bristling from Mulder, and I know it, but he does this to me. "The other doctors will be arriving soon. Orientation meeting is in an hour." I keep my face blank and my words crisp. Glaring at Mulder, I push past them both and make my way for the shower. I'm wound up tight and want nothing more than to jack-off. "I suggest you get aquatinted with your team." I look from Scully to the folder laying on my coffee table. 

"Mulder? Have a croissant," I toss over my shoulder, hoping it pisses him off. 

* * *

Mulder shoved his hands in his denim pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

"Mulder, would you mind not doing that? You're in my light." Scully's voice was tired, soft, vulnerable. 

He looked down at her, hunched over on Alex Krycek's couch (of all things) and pawing through Krycek's doctor file. He sucked his lip, trying to form the right words in his mind. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell her she was being bullheaded. He wanted to get them out of here. And, he admitted to himself, he wanted to see what Krycek had up his sleeve. 

Without moving, he cleared his throat, "Scully. When I said you should work harder on finding Gibson.." She looked up at him, her face pinched and guarded. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, holding them out helplessly and looking around the loft. "I didn't mean to run across the country with Alex Krycek!" 

Scully scoffed, rolling her eyes to the side, mouth agape. Sitting back on the couch, she looked at her partner incredulously. "And you have a better idea?" 

Mulder mirrored her facial expression. " _Alex Krycek_ , Scully!" 

"Look. _Mulder_. Right now I'm completely out of options, and this seems to be my only one. I'm doing everything I can," she punctuated her last sentence, glaring at him. 

"In the meantime," she held up the file in her hands, "Krycek is apparently offering us a way to fight the future. Isn't that what you want, Mulder?! Just a week ago you said we can't give up hope!" 

Squinting, he lowered his voice under the background noise of a shower turning on. "So you trust him, then?" 

Scully let her anger wash away easily. Holding a grudge with her lover wasn't as important as her need to hear his opinions. She needed his approval, even though she was fighting it. Krycek's words echoed in her ears, but this wasn't that sort of situation. Was it? She sighed, looking up at Mulder, and tucked an errant hair behind her ear. 

"Mulder, this morning," she paused, collecting her thoughts as he settled next to her on the couch. "He put his trust in me. He told me about himself. He gave me a knife for God sake!" She threw her hands up slightly and let them hit the folder, emphasizing her confusion. 

Mulder slid his arm across the back of the couch, rubbing her shoulder supportively. Despite his protestations, Scully was intelligent and he respected her judgments. More than that, he trusted them. 

"What did he tell you?" 

She arched an eyebrow at him. It wasn't the professional Mulder asking, and she knew it, but she understood. She squashed that line of thought, preferring not to think of the two men's past. Casually flipping through the resume of Dr. Hashaki, she said, "He was in the Navy. Stationed in Hong Kong before he became a seal." 

Mulder mulled that information over while Scully read the file. He couldn't imagine the young, wet-behind-the-ears Alex he once knew had been stalking around the world as a seal before they met. He remembered the way Alex had fallen apart after Cole's death. How many people had he killed before that? He remembered the way Alex's hot tongue had spiked along his balls that night, hungry for forgiveness in his arms. Mulder swallowed. How much of it was bullshit? It turned his stomach and made him ache at the same time. 

"Is that all?" 

Scully looked up from studying a photograph. "He speaks thirteen languages," she commented, and Mulder picked up on the admiration lining her voice. 

He bristled slightly, his voice betraying him. "When did he study? In the womb?" 

Scully smiled slightly, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards. 

He quickly changed the subject, "He put his trust in you. But you didn't answer my question. Do you trust him?" 

Sighing, Scully set the folder down again and leaned into Mulder's space slightly. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, and stared without focus at the skyline outside. "Of course not, Mulder. But, he's obviously trying really hard to gain our trust. If anything, I think we could at least play along and see what we can get out of him." 

Mulder was quiet. After a few shared minutes of contemplation, he spoke. "I think so, too, Scully. We'll just have to wait and find out what Krycek is up to." 

* * *

I turn around and stare at the group of people blinking back at me, and my only real thought is I hate the smell of this building. It's far too clean. Sterile. I've never liked the smell of nothing- it's disorienting and unnatural. Humans invented this smell, not nature. 

"Welcome," I say, blandly. "I trust you all have been briefed on security precautions?" 

They nod silently, nervously surveying the premises. 

"This is Dr. Scully," I motion to her, and she doesn't even blink. She's all business now. "She'll be heading your team. If you have any questions, I suggest you ask her. After the tour, she will explain your duties." 

She looks at me like I've just thrown her to the fishes. I duck my head reassuringly. I have every faith in her- even if that doesn't go both ways. Turning on my heel, I begin my tour guide schpiel. 

"If you'll follow me," I say, just in time to notice Mulder poking around with sterilized medical equipment. He looks up guiltily and I scowl. As I start blathering about the tank set up, another part of my mind goes off on a tangent. I wonder if his mother was constantly yanking his hands away from the racks of clothing when she took him shopping. 

Scully has taken over, answering a few questions about the medical equipment, and I'm thankful. I have to clap myself on the back for taking that extra 30 minutes to brief her before the calvary arrived. It's been so long since I've been in a biology class, I can't tell the difference between an erlenmeyer flask and a bunsen burner. I lead us into the next room, away from the eerie human sized tanks, and into a high-tech computer lab. 

Again, Scully fields a question about DNA mapping, and I step to the side as the doctors poke and prod the computer equipment. 

Mulder leans towards me slightly and drawls, "Yeah, but do they have Snood?" 

I turn my head (he's much closer than I thought). Stepping back a little, I blink at him. What the fuck is he talking about? He grins sheepishly and walks away. 

"I'd like to remind you all," I say, authoritatively, getting everyone's attention again. "Each computer will have a unique password, as well as retinal scanning, for access. The passwords change every week." 

A few of the men glance between each other, and I make a note of who they are. I don't need leaks in this project. 

Tilting my head back, I zero my eyes on them. "If you fail to recognize the rules, you will be eliminated from the project." 

That does the trick. While the two men look as if they're about to lose bladder control, I lead everyone through the lobby and into the testing rooms. Scully starts railing off about proper procedures, safety issues, and other boring crap I could give a shit about. 

I slink to the back, and turn to Mulder. 

"It's about an hours drive back into the city." 

He stares back at me, his face unreadable. "Where are we going?" 

"An old friend's office. I need to get a listing of facilities where they might be holding Gibson." 

He turns back to Scully, and I notice his jaw is tight. I watch him flex the muscles there for a moment, and suppress every urge to run my tongue over them. 

The questions being fired across the room have dissipated, so I step in. "You'll be provided with a short lunch break around noon, in the cafeteria. Do not leave the premises until 9PM. I am providing each of you with a town car which will take you back to your new living quarters tonight. Any questions?" 

I swear, for Ph.D.'s, this is a dead group. Scully will be out of her mind tonight. I almost feel sorry for her. A few of them look to her, like they'd rather ask her than me, but that's not my problem. 

"You have a five minute interlude to gather yourselves. Dismissed." They all shuffle out in a stampede, desperate to start chattering in the lobby. 

Scully looks at me, raising her eyebrows and sucking her lips over her teeth with a little inhale. 

"You okay?" I've asked before I know what I'm saying. They both give me a strange look, and I'm right there with them. 

"I'm fine," she automates. Turning to Mulder, she's much gentler. "Keep in touch with me throughout the day?" 

Precious moments, here we come. 

To my surprise, they don't morph into a mushy couple. I expect him to kiss her, or say something that would make me throw up, but he's very professional. He pulls her aside, and they start whispering, so I turn around and slump against the doorway. You wouldn't think it of a spy, but I'm actually not fond of eavesdropping when I don't have to. 

I stare into the lobby, making a few of the doctors nervous, but they continue to embrace their few minutes of freedom. I watch the two troublemakers closely, assessing if I should scrap them now or give them a chance. One of them stares back at me a little too boldly, and I make a mental note. I'll have to look into him further. 

Suddenly Scully's hand is on my arm, much too gently, and I pull back automatically. 

"I'm ready." 

I nod, handing her a metal clipboard of their duties for today. "Good luck." She looks uptight, so I grin slightly, "Coffee's free, Scully." 

Mulder pushes past us, and I follow him out, leaving her shaking her head. 

* * *

He's staring at me, and I'm trying not to notice, but this is getting ridiculous. I turn the windshield wipers up as the rain starts to thicken. It's been five minutes like this. I'm about to crack. 

Another mile down the freeway and I do. I turn to him, all fire, and spit out, "What?!" 

He blinks calmly. "Was that really you at the Mount Weather complex?" 

"Yes." I turn back to the road, concentrating. 

"Why did you help me?" 

I could choke. I exhale with disbelief, grimacing enough to crease the bridge of my nose. I bare my teeth at him, "I always help you, Mulder." 

Now usually, I'd expect him to haul off and snap my nose, or start screaming about his father. Hell, screaming about the truth and blah blah blah. But he's calm. He looks a little pensive, but that's about it. 

He drops it and stares out the window again. We drive about six miles, and he turns to me suddenly. 

"Why did you help me with the trial?" 

I blink. What the fuck is he talking about? I look at him, and he's serious. I'm desperately trying to remember any sort of trial, but the longer I think about it the longer the silence stretches between us. He's getting antsy. The only thing I can come up with is his murder trial, but I wasn't even in the country at the time. 

I've got to be honest. "What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?" 

He looks taken aback, "That wasn't you in Quantico?" 

"What?" 

He stares at me evenly, like he's trying to figure out if I'm lying. I glance at him, raising my eyebrows. I really have no idea what's going on inside his beautiful, fucked up head. 

He sits back, worrying his lip. Finally, he looks out his window and his voice is flat. "You were there, Krycek. You helped me. I still don't understand why." He looks at me like I can pull some mystical answer out of my ass, and make the world right again. 

I wish I could. 

"I think they fucked with your head, Mulder," I say, bluntly. 

He keeps staring at me. I might squirm. His next words send chills up my spine and fire into my belly. 

"You were my ally." 

A tight knot wrenches at me and I'm fighting to keep my face placid. If he only knew how much those words rip me apart. I desperately want to pull over, kiss him hard, bury him in me, and tell him I _am_. I've always been. But he's never understood that. Mulder and his goddamn sense of right and wrong and never the twain shall meet. I stare out the window and keep driving, pushing the swell of desire and anger down past my larynx. 

* * *

Slamming the car door, I head for the wooden stairway of Jerry's old offices. This place brings back memories. I can almost smell the heroin and sticky, used condoms. 

"I've been here," Mulder's voice cuts heavy through the smog. I hear his door slam behind me. 

My boot slides in the mass of fresh mud, and I wobble to regain my balance. Maybe it's his words, maybe it's the rain, or maybe it's the mud caking my good boots. I don't know. But I snap, "Good for you." 

I glare at him from the steps, wishing he'd hurry the fuck up instead of just standing there like he's made an amazing observation. Finally he turns around, done taking in the scenery, and glances at me curiously. Yes, I think you're a shit, Mulder. Lets move. 

I turn around and trot up the steps. 

The door is locked with a dead bolt, and most of the gold lettering on the door has been scratched away. 

"Nobody home," Mulder quips. I'm about to snap at him again when I notice his bangs falling over his forehead from the heavy smog. I'm completely blind sided by the urge to sweep them away and bury my tongue between his lush lips. 

While I've been lost in fantasy, he's found a heavy rock and is pounding away at the dead bolt. He must take lessons in subtly from Scully. I cast a glance around the harbor, nervously, before pushing him away. He breathes, watching me as I get down on my knees and pull an extra key from under the stairway. I stand up, pull the tape away with exaggerated flourish, and open the dead bolt. 

"Tah dah," I purr, shouldering the door open. 

We both stumble in and squint. Woo. I wasn't kidding about that smell. Except its more like water-logged rot. 

"What are we looking for, Krycek?" Mulder picks up some discarded papers on the desk. "Charming company you keep." He holds up the memo and points to the header. 

I'm working on wrenching a file cabinet open. "Jerry?" 

He stares at the paper, and mumbles to himself, "J. Kallenchuck." He smirks and drops the paper on the desk, coming over to help me. Can't say I'm not a little relieved. Three hands are better than one. "What a real bitch." 

I finally yank it open, metal screaming in protest. I smile humorlessly. "Dykes," and shrug. 

We both lug a cabinet drawer to the floor and start pawing through them. Most of it is crap. Sales receipts and general clientele information. I stare past Mulder to the large reception desk. Suddenly its 1996 and I'm grappling with who gets to be on top in a strung out haze. Our sexualities stark opposites, and we hated each other to the core, but we were scared out of our fucking minds. I can still remember the cold, aching slide of gun barrel pushing past my sphincter. 

"This something?" Mulder tosses me a print out. 

I pick it up and scan the text. Three columns. Numbers, dates, and cities. I look up at him, impressed. Mulder is expert at finding exactly what he wants when he doesn't know what he's looking for. 

"What is it?" He stands up as I do, and crowds my shoulder. 

I point to the middle column. "See these dates? They're estimates. When the facilities will be prepped for inhabitation. This print out is several years old, but it's the best I can do without sending up red flags." 

"Inhabited by whom?" 

"By what, rather." I dangle the rather unsettling news in front of him. I'm sorry to have to tell him, really. I didn't expect him to be joining me on this little foray. Tucking the print out into my inner pocket, I head for the door. "Supersoldiers, Mulder." 

I don't hear his footfalls, so I turn around. He's staring at my feet, and looks like his mind is going a mile a minute. Finally, he looks up, his mouth tight. 

"I bet those boots are Hugo Boss," he nods to my shoes. 

I can't help it. I wrinkle my forehead and laugh, "Mulder. What the hell--" 

Before I can finish my thought he's launched himself at me and slammed me into the door. His fists are wrenching at my throat. He's not a strong guy comparatively, but damn are his fingers cold. 

"You gave them Gibson Praise!!" He's roaring in my face and it's just like old times. 

"Mulder!" I grunt, and desperately try to writhe away from his icy grip. 

He slams me back, and my head cracks against the glass of the door. I grit my teeth as pain rushes up against the backs of my eyes. 

"You gave them Gibson Praise, and you lured Scully out here!! What the hell are you trying to pull, Krycek?!" 

I pull his hand from my throat easily, but his other digs into my windpipe. I cough out, "I gave him to them so I could get him back!" 

"What!?" He's still screaming at the top of his lungs, his face twisted in anger. He looks great like that. 

I wriggle my leg between his and push him off balance with my hips. It only works for a second. Long enough for me to grate out, "Haven't you ever heard of keeping your enemies close, Mulder?" 

New anger sparks into his eyes and he yanks me around by my collar onto the desk. He must be working out. My feet actually come off the floor and I hit the desk flying. My face breaks the fall. I roll over, groaning. 

"Ah, fuck, Mulder," I mumble breathlessly. 

He doesn't even hear me. "Is that what you were doing with me?! What about Skinner and Scully?!" 

He's on top of me, trying to strangle me again. Mulder's anger therapy of choice. I've had enough of this. I wrestle my arm free and grab onto his face, digging my thumb up under his soft jaw. He yanks his head back, and I dig in more, which only makes his fingers tighten. This is getting a lot accomplished. 

I lose my calm and spit out, "You think you're so noble?! You watched me die, you asshole!" 

His grip wavers and I launch up, smashing my head into his mouth. He howls and smacks me. 

"You wanted to kill my son!" 

"That wasn't me!!" Goddam idiot, get it through your head. 

I feel the tension leave him, and he turns into dead weight on top of me. I'm still angry, and my lip is bleeding, so it takes me by surprise. I wriggle, thinking he's trying to trap me, and make contact with the strained bulge between his legs. Sick fuck. He always did get off on this. `Course, that's not to say I'm not hard as a rock. 

I look up at him, and he's looking at me like he did last night. Then his eyes soften at the sides, and he monotones, "I watched you die and all I could do was hate you. And then you came back.." 

I don't dare say anything. I don't move. I don't think I'm even breathing. 

And then he's leaning down and slanting his mouth over mine. I inhale, trying to pull away, and he follows me. His mouth clamps onto mine and his tongue pushes it's way in. It's hot, and velvet, and oh.. My resolve fizzles and I'm lost in him. I clutch at his coat and pull myself into him, rubbing wantonly against the heat of his crotch. It's been so long and oh, God, he tastes like the sunflower seeds he ate on the plane this morning. I feel a groan rip out of my belly and tumble out of me. He bites my lip, and it's heaven. 

I almost cum. 

He wrenches himself up off me, and I moan protest. Forcing my eyes open, I look up at him. He looks shocked. 

"No. Mulder," I whine, rubbing my cock along his. 

"Scully," he says, plainly. And it makes sense. It's all he needs to say. 

I don't even try to stop him when he pulls himself off the desk and walks out. 

* * *

Scully turns toward us, her eye's framed above the baby blue medical mask covering the lower half of her delicate features. She's tied her hair back with a rubber band she probably stripped off an unmarked package earlier in the day. I've never noticed how feminine she is before. 

She looks relieved to see us, and pulls the mask down to hang around her neck. 

We come in from the doorway, ignoring the looks we're getting from the remaining doctors, and I throw two human toxic waste bags on the counter. 

"Did somebody order take-out?" Mulder's voice grumbles behind me, and I turn around just in time to catch him making a disgusted face. 

"What's this?" Scully's already pulling apart the sealant. 

"Krycek was giving me a tour of the Bay Area Abortion Clinic," Mulder turns away, swallowing, as the smell escapes the bags. 

She looks up at me, "How did you get these?" 

I glance around the room, "Unofficial channels." 

She looks to Mulder, surprised. Don't worry, Scully, he's still your golden boy. "Much to Mulder's chagrin," I add, reassuring her with a hint of sarcasm. 

He gives me a pissy look before turning back to Scully. "Consider yourself lucky you weren't subjected to Krycek's people skills." 

He's just mad I saw him puke in the parking lot. 

"It's this or live subjects," I remind them both. 

Scully sighs, grabbing a few beakers and filling them with some sort of fluid. "I was wondering when you were going to get to this," she says to me. "You can only perform so many miracles on paper and silicon." 

I smirk. 

Mulder looks queasy again when she plops each gooey fetus into the separate beakers. After she's done putting them in the fridge, she turns to us both and snaps off her latex gloves. 

"So," she sighs, looking at me. "You mentioned paella?" 

* * *

"I have to hand it to you, Krycek, it smells delicious," Scully says, crowding me and picking a pimiento-stuffed olive from the pan. 

I scowl at her and hand her three wine glasses for the table. 

"Where's Mulder?" 

She tries to hide a smile, "Showering. He said the stench of day-old placenta doesn't suit him." 

She stretches up, plucking a few wine bottles from the hanging rack. "What should we drink?" 

I throw garlic into the mixture of chorizo and shallot, and steam hisses up into the rafters. Licking my fingers, I think about it. 

"White. Something dry, to counteract the spices." I watch her stand on her toes to try to reach some of the higher bottles. "There's a `99 white merlot on the left." 

I finally take pity on her and get it down, handing it to her. She takes it without so much as a thank you, and starts working the cork. 

"All this good taste," she says far too idly. I just know I'm in for another interrogation. "Where are you getting the money to back it up?" 

I give her my best innocent, I-don't-know-what-you-mean face. 

It does no good. She presses, "You _are_ funding this entire project, aren't you?" 

I sigh, using a little of the wine to saute the shrimp. "I told you I've been working on this previous to bringing you into it." I add, "And Mulder." 

"I was employed by the Brit for awhile. He took good care of me." 

She's sipping her wine, leaning against the counter, taking it all in. Maybe it's me, but I think she actually enjoys these breaks with me. I've noticed the tension leaves her shoulders. Mulder has no sense of relaxation. He's all work, all the time. It may have rubbed off on her, but there are moments between her interrogation questions when I feel like she actually slips into something else. 

I watch her swirl the merlot in her glass, looking around the apartment at the lights of the city. I definitely think there is a softer side to Dana Scully. One that doesn't want to be searching for the great and powerful truth every waking moment. 

"Do you have any hobbies?" I try to be gentle. She looks at me curiously, her mouth tight. I pull up my sleeve to illustrate my next words, "Nothing." 

She tilts her head. Maybe she isn't suspect of me after all. Maybe it's simply that nobody bothers to ask her anymore. It's a harrowing thought. 

"I like to read," she says finally. 

I turn down the burner and start adding all my ingredients together. I'm starving. I was too tense today to sit down for lunch with Mulder, and we ended up picking up his version of a meal: white cheese powdered popcorn, two 16 ounces of iced tea, and a microwave burrito for him at the 711. My stomach gurgles in protest. 

"Like what?" 

She thinks, "Truman Capote. John Irving. Burroughs." 

I'm shocked, and I let my face show it, "Burroughs?!" 

The cheeky grin tugging at the corners of her mouth tell me she's pleased with my reaction. She deadpans, "I can't get enough of Naked Lunch." She'd be great at poker. I can't tell if she's yanking my chain or not. 

"What about you, Krycek? Do you read?" 

I sneak an olive, too. "Dostoyevsky. Tolstoy. Turgenev. Some Pushkin. Cliche, but.. my father used to read them to me in Russian, when I was a little boy." I look at her over my shoulder, "I don't think that sort of love ever leaves you." 

She sips her wine, nodding in emphatic agreement. 

"I used to read everything on Oprah's book club," she says, the words tumbling out of her. I was either right about those doctor's being a dead group, or about no one bothering to ask. She's eager to share, even if it's with a scumbag like me. Scully is smiling into her wine glass, her eye's focused on a far off memory. "I remember trying to read them fast enough, so I could compare notes with Melissa." 

I tense. Every muscle in my body locks up, and I thank my luck that I'm facing slightly away from her. I stare into the paella, willing it to explode and cause a distraction. Anything. She must sense my mood shift, because she stops talking. I'm torn between looking to see if she's still there, and wanting to suddenly remember a missed dentist appointment. 

She makes my decision for me. 

"Krycek," she says. Way too soft. Way too gentle. I could scream. 

I turn towards her, using the emotionless mask I usually reserve for Mulder. My heart is pounding in my throat. 

She shifts, her eye's squint as she hones in on me. I'm tempted to take a step back, but I don't want to let on any weakness. I tilt my chin up, challenging her instead. Maybe she'll take my bluff. 

She doesn't, naturally. She goes right for the kill. 

"I need you to tell me the truth. Did you shoot my sister?" 

I breathe. "No," I say, honestly and evenly. Please drop it, Scully. 

"But you were there?" 

"Yes." I'm about to bolt. I can take being smacked around by Mulder, but Scully's quiet, unforgiving intensity is wreaking havoc. I wish she'd take a swing at me. I know how to dodge those punches. 

She sits on the barstool, staring at me. To an untrained eye, she'd look composed. But I know she's fighting back emotions. Any other woman would be crying right now. 

I've got to do something. "We've all made sacrifices, Scully. Even me." 

She's keeping a stiff upper lip. Literally. She glances at me with surprise, her eyes slightly watery. She's holding her breath to keep it all reigned in. 

"You?" she asks, her voice a wavering exhale. 

I nod, dishing the paella onto our dinnerware. Mulder's shower has turned off in the background. I focus on my food presentation, not my words. 

"I had a brother. Mikhail." My heart tightens and squeezes with Misha's memory. It's not one I let myself delve into often. Only on particularly depressing winter nights. 

I flash on our last Christmas Eve together, when we snuck into mama and papa's Virginia pasture to make snowmen at 2am, and he told me he was in love. Linda, a rich Jewish girl from Long Island. He'd leaned forward with big green eyes, and whispered into the night like little brothers do, `She gives great head and makes a knish to die for, Sasha.' 

"What happened to him?" Scully's voice cuts into my reverie. 

I shrug, heading for the table with two plates on my arm. "Killed." 

Scully follows me. I don't appreciate it. I shoot her my most murderous glance. 

"Why?" 

My voice is full of contempt when I speak, "To remind me of where my loyalties should have lied. Who I worked for." 

"Who does _number two_ work for?" Mulder's voice, in a poorly done British accent, precedes him down the hallway. He comes out of the shadows, grinning and looking hungrily at dinner. 

Scully brings our wine to the table, and we all sit down in the world's most ill conceived dinner party. Thankfully, neither of them say grace before eating. 

Scully and I must be lost in our thoughts, because Mulder gets bored. He shoots a look at me and I know I'm about to be prodded. 

"All this for us, Krycek? All we needed was a couple TV Dinners." 

I finish sipping my wine, and say casually, "No TV, no TV Dinners." 

"No TV?" He turns around in his chair, staring into my living room. I hear him murmur in disbelief, "No TV." 

For a legendary profiler with photographic memory, he can be amazingly unobservant. 

"They brainwash you," I explain, as simply as possible. "I won't have one in my house." 

Mulder gives me a foul look. "I bet you had one of those mothers that never let you drink soda, Krycek." 

How _dare_ he. I spit back, intending to wound, "I bet you had one of those mothers that gave you everything you wanted." 

Works like a charm. Anger flares in his eyes, and his jaw starts twitching. I smirk unkindly. 

"Any luck on locating Gibson today?" Scully cuts through the tension. 

We both blink like fishes and stare at her. Oh yeah, work. 

"Mulder found the list of possible locations they might be holding him." I look to him for back up, but he's stuffing his face already. "They won't have taken him out of the country. It's too much hassle with fake documentation. We have several options, and we'll work on narrowing them tomorrow morning." 

"You keep saying `they'. Who is they?" She skewers a scallop on her fork before looking between us. 

Mulder answers, finally. I take the opportunity to start eating before the next barrage of questions. "Supersoldiers." 

She looks at him, shocked. "Jesus, Mulder. Does it ever end?" He doesn't have an answer for her, and she sighs. I watch them carefully as I eat. "I thought Knowle Rohrer was the last." 

I jump in, "Tip of the iceberg." 

Scully shares a look with Mulder, "Promise me you'll be careful?" 

He nods, uncomfortable with the intimacy in her voice in front of me. I know, because he immediately glances at me shyly before nodding noncommittally at her. 

"How can you be sure they aren't hurting Gibson?" he asks me. 

"They need his gift. Coming into the game late, it can't hurt to have a mind reader cutting through the doublespeak." 

"You can be sure of that?" Scully is back to business again, following Mulder's lead. 

I look to her calmly, "They aren't gamblers. They're very careful." 

"And what about you? What do you want with him?" Mulder's defensive. What is he, in love with this kid? 

Scully jumps in, "We managed to get through a significant amount of the files today. Krycek was right, all of the experiments failed before Cassandra." The compassion leaks into her voice, and Mulder notices it too. "We were trying to organize the experiments into different groups, what failed and why. We can eliminate the problems in our experiment if we isolate the dependent variables in theirs." 

Mulder's lips have fallen open in a soft, moist, "Sooo.." 

"So," she drawls, baby-stepping him. "We begin to narrow down the scope of our search. By the time you two have Gibson, we'll only need to run a few tests on his DNA to locate the third component." 

She turns to me, "The amount of information you gathered is tremendous. Really, a lot of the work has been done for us. I may not agree with the methods, but it helps." 

I switch gears, "What were your impressions of Dr. Hing and Dr. Yuan?" 

She looks at me curiously. "Quiet, reserved. Dr. Yuan is a brilliant chemist." 

"And the other?" 

She chews thoughtfully, "Arrogant, I suppose. I don't think he's used to answering to a woman. I didn't think anything of it. Why?" 

"I'm being cautious," I say to them both, although Mulder seems to still be brooding about the lack of a TV. I turn to Scully, "Keep an eye on Hing. First sign of trouble, let me know." 

"And if there is? What then?" Mulder challenges. 

I look at him evenly, deadly serious. "I'll execute him." 

They both ruffle, suddenly reminded that it's me they're eating dinner with. The conversation drops for the rest of our meal. 

* * *

Thinking back, I don't think I've ever had the opportunity to entertain guests in my house. None that I wasn't fucking with, anyway. I stare at the red numbers of my alarm clock, and wonder when this is going to let up. Is it even kosher to hump all night when you're visiting? I can see doing it in the White House, maybe, but that's my only exception. 

Mulder's hoarse, gurgled moan floats across the hallway. 

I roll over onto my stomach, sighing into my pillow. I can't help it. I jerk my hips back and forth, rubbing my cock along the bedsheet. I stifle a moan. I can't believe I'm doing this. How pathetic to rub off to Mulder and Scully fucking each other a door away. 

Another stifled moan from my ex-lover, and Scully's breathy mewls start up again. Second time this hour. Impressive. Maybe I should start keeping score. 

Or, maybe I should just.. 

I lift onto my hip, sliding my palm across my ribs and over my nipple. Het sex has never been my thing, but I can't help thinking about Scully's bobbing breasts as she rides Mulder, probably biting her lip to keep from screaming. Scully is definitely a top woman. I yank my own nipple relentlessly, twisting it purple. Although, all those years of platonic partnership have probably led to a pretty even playing field in the sex department. 

Scully groans Mulder's name, and my cock twitches. 

Strike my previous thought. I bet they switch. It's probably the most disgustingly equal relationship in history. Even though, speaking from experience, Mulder loves to get his dick sucked at the most inappropriate times. I bet he's constantly dragging her behind crime scenes and pushing her mouth down his prick. 

Speaking of which.. 

I leave my protesting nipple, trailing my fingertips down through the downy hair lining from bellybutton to crotch. I finger the tiny indent in my torso, jerking when it tickles, and splay my fingers towards my cock. I'm about to have second thoughts when Mulder's long, drawn out groan hitches in my ears. 

I inhale, "Yes. _Mulder_." 

I hurriedly strip my boxers down to my thighs, wriggling like a frenzied adolescent about to get his first blowjob. My fingers tighten around my shaft, jerking it to full attention. I roll onto my back, fucking any sense of pretense, and raise my knees up slightly. I remember what he felt like this afternoon.. all heat and hardness, pressing me into the desk. I roll my balls in my hand, over and over, before gripping my cock again. 

I can hear the guest bed creaking now, despite their efforts to quiet down. Scully must have noticed. I listen very carefully, stilling my hand. Very, very faintly.. Mulder's strained grunts match the squeak of bedsprings. 

I imagine its me he's pounding into. Me, bending over the desk at Jerry's. My pants pooled around my ankles, his cock buried deep in my ass, and I'm begging him for more. He pushes my face into the wood, and bends down to bite into the shoulder of my leather jacket like its my own flesh. 'You're a slut, Krycek,' he growls, reaching around to fist me. 

"Oh, please," I moan, my knees shaking in ancient rhythm under the blanket. 

Scully's third orgasm tears me away from my fantasy. I listen, jerking madly, as she starts to scream and aborts it. I can imagine her sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, eye's shut tight, clamping down around Mulder's beautiful cock and moaning. 

I find myself mumbling, "Cum, Scully.." 

My fantasy morphs into Mulder fucking me fucking Scully. Her tiny fingers are gripping my hair, and those neatly manicured fingernails scratch at the back of my head while she moans my name. It drives Mulder mad with jealousy, and he reams my ass even more. 

I start palming my cockhead, yanking it painfully with little bursts of pleasure. Oh, if only Mulder was here to tease his lips over that special.. little.. oh, God.. spot.. oh, yes, _yes_. 

I jerk, starting to buck into my fist, gurgling a mixture of Mulder and Scully's names. My head snaps back, my whole spine going rigid. It's fire, sparking from the bottom of my balls and licking up my cock, shooting up my spine into the nerves of my brain. All my thoughts explode as my synapses singe in white hot, molten pleasure. 

"Ooh, fuuccckk," I growl hard around gritted teeth. My arm is a blur of motion, working furiously over my weeping cock. 

Behind the rushing of blood in my ears, I hear Mulder finally cum. He isn't as disciplined as Scully. He shouts, his voice that muffled, erotic pool of heat that _is_ Mulder in orgasm. It's enough to send me over the edge. 

I flip myself over onto my stomach, my ass in the air enough to squeeze my dick in hard, slow pumps, and bite into my pillow. My whole body shudders, and I milk my cock for all its worth. I keep groaning into the pillow, spilling hot seed all over my bedsheets. 

Finally, my hips jerk one last time, and I fall into the cooling puddle. 

I open my eyes in a grimace, looking down below me, and whisper to myself, "Oh, shit." 

* * *

Circling one neatly, french-manicured nail over Mulder's nipple, Scully stifled a yawn. Mulder was always half-asleep by orgasm, and snoring soundly as soon as he hit the pillow. It took her a little longer, but she enjoyed the time for quiet contemplation. She nestled her chin into his chest more firmly, let her toes curl into the soft hair of his calves, and gently she felt herself lulled into sleep by the rise and fall of his snores. 

Her mind began to drift, replaying the restless moments of Mulder's trial. Laying awake, in her bed, crying despite her will not to. Praying when the tears ran out. She had thought of him every moment of the night, laying alone in his cold cell, and would only let herself rest once she had known he was okay. She'd gone almost 48 hours without sleeping when Skinner had forced her to nap in the hallway during Doggett's testimony. 

Mulder's hand slides up her thigh, and he mumbles something unintelligible before it settles across her belly. A quick pain cracks into her heart, and she remembers William. Her beautiful baby. Her womb ripples and squeezes tenderly, aching for him. She flattens her hand over Mulder's heart, eager to let his forgiveness wash over her. She hasn't yet found the strength to forgive herself, and it is making her spirit weak. 

Sleep begins to tug her eyelids down, heavy over her moist eyes. She presses a sleepy kiss into Mulder's throat. She's been so tired, so fragile lately. She hasn't even begun to process the cataclysmic events which have tumbled, landing one on top of each other in an intricate Mah Jong pattern over her life. It hasn't even mattered. She sweeps her hand over Mulder's strong jaw, pulling his sleeping face towards her. This is what matters to her now. Not aliens, not the FBI, not the truth with a capital T. But, Mulder, her baby, her family. The humanity which has so lacked in the last year of her life. She clings to it now, relishing it as it is returned to her. 

Scully begins to fall asleep, her mind's buzzing thoughts blurring around the edges and softening. She presses herself into Mulder's warmth, and thinks of the man across the hall. He has no one to cling to in the middle of the night, to bring humanity to his fight. She remembers the shocking gentleness of his words as he spoke about his father reading to him as a boy; his murdered brother. She had related, despite herself. Maybe there was a spark of a human soul inside Alex Krycek after all. 

* * *

Something has woken me up. I'm sitting up with wide, alert eyes before my brain has had a chance to come out of the fog. 

Screaming. 

Someone is screaming. And the alarm is going off. 

I jump up, grabbing my gun, and tear down the single hallway without making a sound. Light is pouring into my apartment, and I squint when I run out into the living room. 

"Senior Raskolnikov! Senior! Aye, el hombre loco me ba a mortar! Ayudame! Ayudame!!" 

I stare at the situation in amusement. My good maid, Luiza, is clutching the basket of breakfast items I ordered, wailing at the top of her lungs. She looks terrified, so I deal with her first. 

"Luiza, esta bien. El hombre loco es mi amigo," I grin. "Su nombre es Mulder. No te ba a danar. Tu puedes confiarme. Calmate." 

"Y la mujer?" 

"Mi amiga, tambien. Ella es Dana Scully, Luiza. Calmate." 

She looks at me with the whites of her eyes showing. Then to Mulder, who still has his goddam gun trained at her head, and Scully who is brandishing a kitchen knife. 

I almost laugh. "Guys, calm down. This is Luiza, my maid." 

Scully gives a barked sigh, setting the knife down and looking embarrassed. Mulder, for all of his Bureau training, shifts nervously and keeps his gun up. He chews his bottom lip, "Your maid?" 

I sigh, walking over to him and pushing his gun down myself. I glare at him, "Yes. My maid. She comes every other day." 

He stares at me like I've miraculously grown my arm back. Ignoring him, I go to the door and shut down the alarm system. Luiza is still skittish, and she's looking between me and Mulder. 

I smile at her charmingly, and rub her back. "Esta bien. Tomalos a la cocina, por favor." 

"Si, Senior Raskolnikov," she whispers. Keeping her eyes on Mulder, she takes my groceries to the kitchen. 

I sigh, turning to them both. I'm standing here in only my boxers, unshaven, unshowered, without my prosthetic, and yet it's not me who looks like a fool. I give them both a lopsided smirk. 

Scully is flushing, "We didn't know.." 

I shrug, clicking the safety on my gun, and start to make my way back to my room. "Anytime." 

Mulder doesn't move out of my way, and I look up at him. He gives me a bitter look. "Raskolnikov? That's the best you can do?" 

I glare at him. Asshole. "Suck my dick, Mulder." 

I'm only slightly pacified when I notice his eyes drifting over my naked abdomen before flicking up to mine again. 

* * *

I finish buttoning up my shirt, and smooth my hand over the clean, black silk. Heaven; after spending the night in a cold puddle of my own jism. I never truly appreciated the gift of cleanliness until the Turkish prison. 

I snap out of it, picking up my breakfast, and turn to the motley crue. 

Scully is scribbling away at something that looks important, and Mulder.. Mulder is picking at his dumplings sullenly. 

He looks up, "What _is_ this, Krycek?" 

"Dim sum." 

He stares at it. "Don't you have any Poptarts?" 

I sneer in repulsion. "This is a traditional Cantonese breakfast." 

He sits up, inhaling loudly through his nose, and stretching his back. He looks to Scully and quips. "No TV, no Poptarts. At least we now know sociopaths are made, not born." 

Scully doesn't even look up from her scattered papers. Using her droll, doctor dialogue, she deadpans one at Mulder. "At least this sociopath has the peace of mind to put us up in a luxury penthouse and feed us gourmet faire." 

I stop, dumpling half in my mouth. Neither Mulder nor I know how to react. She finally looks up from under the rims of her reading glasses, and shoots him a minuscule smile. How does she do that?? 

Dana Scully, one. Men, zero. 

I ignore Mulder's scrupulous stare, and make a show of eating my breakfast in a particularly non-sociopathic way. Whatever that may be. 

Scully breaks the silence by mumbling outloud, "We're going to need more acid." 

Mulder's eager to gain his point back. "Ah, yes. That's what we forgot. Milk, bread, eggs, and _acid_." 

She looks up at him, only half amused. 

He grins, "I'll make a list next time." 

She rolls her eyes and looks to me for help. I shake my head, staying completely out of it. As much as we're turning into a regular Laugh Factory here, we need to get going. 

I glance at my watch, "Mulder. Time to go." 

He pouts melodramatically and holds up his bowl, "But I haven't even finished my dim sum." 

I glare, and resist telling him he's an overgrown child. It's going to be a long, long day. 

I hang back while Mulder goes to get his coat and check his gun. I scowl at Scully. "You're sure you don't want to baby-sit the Beaver today?" 

She smiles curtly. Shit eater. She's practically gloating she gets to be rid of him. "I think you can handle it, Eddie." 

I nod, a headache already forming between my eyes. "A car will be here to pick you up in two hours. Mi casa es su casa." With that, I leave her behind us. 

Stepping into the elevator, my mind wanders as I stare at Mulder. I smirk. Beaver Cleaver, indeed. He punches the ground floor button as I pull the doors closed. 

"Going down," he drolls. 

Hm. Beaver Cleaver going down on Eddie Haskel. Somewhere out there, somebody has to have done it by now. 

* * *

Mulder is sipping at the last drops of his cherry slurpee in the most obscene show I've ever witnessed. He's completely oblivious. Loud, obnoxious noises come from the sucking and gnawing of his straw. 

I'm about to take that damn cup and shove it up his nostril. I try to focus on the road, but my mind diverges into counting the many ways I know how to kill a man with a slurpee cup. 

I'm at four when he finally cuts it out. 

My sigh of relief is in vain. 

"Raskolnikov. Arntzen." He looks at me, his brow furrowed. "Is Krycek even your real name?" 

"Yes," I hiss from my bottom teeth. 

He starts working the straw in the plastic lid in a suggestive movement. "It doesn't seem very spy-like to use your real name." 

I turn to him wearily, "You'll forgive me. I joined the Bureau before I got into the name changing, martini swilling, secret gadget spy business." 

He gets my point and looks sullen. "So where does a name like Krycek come from anyway?" 

I make a left, turning us into the mountain climb. "It's Chezch. My father's side." 

"You told me your parents were Russian cold war immigrants." 

"They were. He met Mama in Moscow, and they came to America." It feels far too good, and far too easy, to be telling Mulder this. But I want to. I've always wanted to. I glance at him in my peripheral vision. He's hanging on my every word. "Set up farm land in Virginia, and have been sheep herding ever since." 

A good twenty minutes of heavenly silence, and he blurts, "If you could be any animal, what would you be?" 

It's my turn to stare at him like he's grown a new limb. He raises his eyebrows slightly. 

Very seriously, he adds, "You were the one that used to love pointless car talk. Or was that part of the 'Alex' act?" 

I try not to wince. 

No. It wasn't. I have very fond memories of Papa taking us on road trips. The Grand Canyon, Yellowstone Park, The Great Lakes. America was the land of untold riches that we were to admire and worship with all of our beings. Misha and I never bought it. We'd sit in the back of the winebago and play I-Spy for hours on end. Eventually, Mama took to buying us little dime store booklets of ad-libs and obscure facts. We would quiz each other on them after exhausting the fill-in sections. I never thought listening to Papa's schpiels mattered to me, until I found myself enlisting on my eighteenth birthday. Somewhere between the Four Corners and Mount Saint Helens, patriotism had crept up on me. 

I glance at Mulder, who has given up on the game. 

"A kimono dragon." 

He looks startled without looking startled. It's a patented Mulder face. 

"You?" I press. 

He's either thinking about it or counting redwoods out the window. Finally, he says quietly, "A bronco." 

I'm in the middle of psychologically dissecting his answer when he adds, "Or maybe a platypus." 

I give up. 

* * *

Scully poured herself another cup of coffee, and brought it to her lips. Perfect, caffeinated bliss. Taking her cup with her, she padded into the living room and over to the windows. She was drawn to them. The view was astounding. 

She thought of her own dismal, brick-and-mortar view of Georgetown. A beautiful part of DC by far, but one that had begun to become familiar. Familiarity bred restlessness in her. It was the left-over curse that bestows all Navy brats. Three years, and it's time to move. Like clockwork. 

Sipping her coffee, she watched the busy goings on across the street. A group of oriental women were doing tai chi at the corner of Washington Square park. For some reason, it struck her that Krycek probably stood here and watched this same group when he could. She knew very little about him, but from what she'd learned recently, he had a soft spot for the far East. 

Her mind tumbled, eager to distract itself from the rigid theorems and science cluttering her right brain. As much as the work called to her from the dining room table, she was lulled by the restlessness of her emotions. She continued with the thoughts that had been crowding her mind before falling asleep last night. So much had been thrown at her, in so little time, that her ability to compartmentalize had been knocked off kilter. 

Mulder had come back, and she had only begun to swing into her feminine emotions when she'd been demanded upon. The cold masculine side had guided her through the trial and thereafter. A rock for which Mulder could cling to- steady, unyielding, indestructible. A picture of professionalism for Skinner. After the trial, she'd put everything she had into comforting Mulder. Keeping him on track. His despair and hopelessness truly chilled her. It wasn't easy to play the part of relentless believer for him. 

Backstepping a few paces, Scully curled into the corner of the couch. She could no longer watch the people on the street from here, but the calm sway of ocean current was equally pleasing. She clasped the cup between both hands, cradling it absently to her mouth. 

Krycek's brief words to her yesterday morning threatened to surge, flooding the barrier of what she knew. What had come to be simple fact. She would do anything for Mulder- and wasn't that a good thing? Krycek was right, though. She'd begun to sacrifice herself long ago, becoming a martyr alongside Mulder. While he suffered for the truth, she suffered for love. If that were to change, would Mulder leave her? 

No, she chided herself. Their love had blossomed gradually; a single flower finding its way out of a concrete base. Unexpected, miraculous against all odds, and yet.. beautiful. The bud was still fragile, and needed to be treated with care, but even if it were to wilt.. the concrete would never waver. Mulder would always be with her. 

Krycek's words haunted her, though. They tore at her image of herself. She was strong, not a waif to be manipulated by her lover. Wasn't she? 

She sipped her coffee again and considered this line of thought. 

Perhaps she had begun to compromise a few morals, unwittingly, along the way. She would have to correct that. She would start doing things for her again, not Mulder. And not them- the package deal. Just her. 

Scully looked around, feeling empowered. What could she do that would be completely separate from Mulder? Nothing immediately feasible came to mind. Krycek didn't have a bathtub, a television or VCR, and his reading tastes weren't to her liking. Sure, there was her science. But that was work, and work connected to Mulder. 

She got up, taking her cup to the sink and rinsing it out. She'd have to take a different approach. What was something Mulder would never do? She stared into the apartment unfocused, until it dawned on her. 

Mulder had no interest in getting to know this new side of Krycek he was exposing to them. Last night, when they had talked before making love, he was all vinegar. Any mention of Krycek's efforts to gain their trust, and he'd changed the subject. And, she admitted to herself as she strolled around the loft, her interests were certainly peaked. She'd always been intrigued by powerful, unattainable men. Perhaps something here could reveal more about the true man hiding under his stone face. And, she admitted to herself begrudgingly, perhaps she wanted it to be revealed more than she was letting on. 

Not much she hadn't seen in the living room. Only a few pieces of furniture, and still his coffee table went ungarnished. She wandered into the hallway, faced with the guest room and bathroom, and Krycek's bedroom. Her only observation of the guest room was that the sheets had never been used. She'd mentioned it to Mulder in passing, but he hadn't been paying attention. Their temporary bedroom was painted a soothing avocado, with khaki sheets. No adornments on the walls. Bamboo furniture. 

She twisted her mouth at one corner. This got her nowhere. Her only theory was that perhaps Krycek had chosen vague and unassuming decor for the very purpose of being vague and unassuming. It wouldn't surprise her. With the loving detail he'd put into his kitchen, she knew this wasn't a man to slapdash together whatever furniture was in front of him when he was buying. He was a calculator. Over-thinking each detail. Attempting to out think whoever might be paying attention. 

She turned, finding nothing satisfactory here, and entered his bedroom. Switching on his lightswitch, she had a fleeting moment of paranoia. Perhaps some silent alarm might have just triggered. 

Then she remembered the dark mans last words to her this morning. 'Mi casa es su casa.' Reminding her again of Krycek's link to the East, she felt that if the man was anything- he was sage. His words were chosen so carefully. Only enough to make his point, and that was it. He wouldn't have said them if he didn't mean them. 

She smiled to herself. Certainly a welcome change of pace from Mulder. 

Leaning against the doorway, she took in the small bedroom. A straw mat on the floor, with a low, black wood Japanese style bed. Small nightstand that matched the bamboo in the guest room. Closet filled with beautiful designer clothes, although somewhat melancholy. His only diversion from black got as risque as dark blue. Several pairs of expensive shoes, lined up with military precision. The only extraneous piece in the entire room was a small, homemade bookshelf sitting alone on the far wall. A plywood board resting on top of two grey cinder blocks. A very small collection of fat Russian novels littered the sad little contraption. 

She turned her head, finally taking in the one-man bathroom. Very masculine. She took a step closer, smirking at the black leather and chrome motif. Immaculately clean. 

She couldn't help snooping in his medicine cabinet. Hair products. Lots of hair products. Shaver and gel. Cologne. Box of condoms. KY Jelly. The bottom shelf stuffed to the gills with, what her medical eye quickly realized was, the exact supplies needed for quickly tending to a flesh wound. 

Although something twisted in her gut at seeing the confirming signs of something she might have always known, she awarded herself. Krycek had managed to keep his entire house neutral- but this little gem. This tiny space behind the mirror gave him away, hidden in the shadows. 

"How appropriate," she said to her reflection, amused with the metaphor, and closed the cabinet. 

She peeked under the sink and found the usual suspects. Cleaning fluids, toilet paper, dust pan. But her eye's widened at the plethora of medical supplies. Literally everything one could ever need for tending a: scrape, cut, bruise, burn, laceration, slit, sprain, break, or fracture. 

She shut the cabinet door, surprised at her own blindness. Of course Krycek couldn't go to a doctor! She winced, thinking of his arm. How horrifying, from the standpoint of woman _and_ doctor. 

She was just about to leave the room when she noticed the bedsheets. They were crumpled, as if the bed's occupant hadn't slept well. Scully flushed a little, wondering if perhaps they had subjected Krycek to his restless night. She moved to make the bed, in a silent 'thank you for not mentioning it' gesture. Smoothing her hand over the sheet to clear creases, her hand found a damp spot. 

She snatched it back, looking horrified. Rubbing her fingers together, her mind started to work like an investigator. She looked around the room, although she knew for certain she was alone, and sat on the edge of the bed. Although she felt foolish, she leaned over and smelled the spot. 

No odor. Definitely not urine. 

Then there was only one other possibility. 

Scully stared at the spot. The tangled sheets. And then it all began to fall together like a puzzle. Krycek's reluctance for Mulder to come to San Francisco. His short patience with Mulder's antics this morning. The obvious contents of his medicine cabinet. The many years of Krycek cropping up at just the right time to dangle information their way. His self-proclaimed allegiance to their fight. 

It hadn't been some one night stand seven years ago. Whatever happened between the two men back then, it hadn't ended for Krycek. He was still attracted to Mulder. Did he still have feelings for him? 

It could possibly make some sense of his actions. 

What didn't make sense was the growing arousal between her legs. 

* * *

"Comrade!" 

She throws her arms around my shoulders and kisses both sides of my cheeks, grinning not-too-kindly. 

"You look good," she presses a finger to my nose before dislodging herself from me. 

I straighten my jacket, and raise my a chin a little. "And you look like hell." 

"Eh," she draws a cigarette from the pack stuffed in her back pocket, and slips it between her thin lips. Her words slur, "Life is cruel to me." 

We stand here while she calmly lights up, inhales, and squints at Mulder. "Who's the krasivy malchik?" 

I turn my head only slightly towards him, "Mulder, Rada. Rada, Mulder." 

She stares at us both and cracks a wicked smile, "I see you're still charming as ever." 

I blink seductively. I can't help fucking with people's heads when opportunity presents itself. 

Rada turns, brushing us off, and starts walking through the vineyard of Sonoma Valley. We follow her casually. Mulder is a good foot behind me, wandering aimlessly. He should be taking notes. 

She waves her arm in the air, scattering ash in the wind, and calls over her shoulder. "You always were a pain in my ass, Alex!" 

She turns around, a hand on one hip, and takes a drag. "So, what the fuck do you want?" 

"I'm here on business." I have my hands in my pockets, and I close my jacket tighter against the chilly air. 

"Too bad," she sneers. "I've always preferred pleasure." 

She picks a few black grapes off the lush vine and rolls them in her palm suggestively, eyeing Mulder up. 

_Back off_. 

Raising my voice, which oddly seems appropriate in the foggy valley, I command her attention. "There was a boy abducted. I need to know where they took him." 

Finally, she sombers, but not without sulking. She throws the grapes into the mud with a melodramatic exhale. Looking away from us, she takes another drag. 

"And why should I tell you, huh?" Her head snaps towards me, tendrils of black hair whipping at her colorless cheeks. "What have you done for me lately?" 

We stare each other down, until I very slightly nod towards Mulder. Her eyes slide to him and she gives us a nicotine-stained grin. I'm not sure if Mulder notices or not, because he remains quiet. His breath is streaming out in steady puffs of air. 

"All right. All right." She lets the cigarette hang from her mouth, and adjusts the baggy sweater hanging from her thin frame. Glaring at me, she exhales a stream from her nostrils. "I provided the goods for two facilities. Large orders came in two weeks ago for weapons and security. This wasn't no Colombian drug lord throwing a house party, either." 

"Where?" 

"One in Seattle, the other in San Diego." 

Mulder turns to me in the corner of my eye. I ignore him for now. Staring ahead, my voice is icy. "Don't lie to me, Rada." 

She leans on an open barrel with one hand. Giving me an assessing glance, she purrs, "Ya tebe nikogda ne vryu, Sasha." 

I'm on her before either of them can shout at me to stop, gun trained at her temple, pushing her to bend backwards over the wine barrel. 

"Tell me where they took him," I snarl maliciously. 

"Krycek, what the hell are you doing?" Mulder is moving towards me cautiously. 

I don't look towards him. "Stay there, Mulder." 

Rada's dead eyes are wide, black with too many ODs in her lifetime. She knows I'll do it. "San Diego. They're holding him there until they can get him to Tunisia." 

I press my weight into her. "When?" 

"I don't know!" 

Silently, I dig the barrel of my gun into her temple. She clutches at my shoulders, "Okay! Five days." 

"Krycek, let her go," Mulder is using his hostage-negotiation voice. 

"Transport?" I lock my eyes with hers. She raises both eyebrows. I exhale, nodding. "Just as I thought." 

"Bolshoe spasibo za pomoshch," I grin, letting my weight off her. She and Mulder both sigh in relief, and she starts to get up. Just as she's getting to her feet, I pull the trigger. 

"NO!" Mulder's cry is drowned out by the echoing blast of gunfire in the vineyard. 

I watch, pleased, as her body crumples backwards and topples head-first into the wine barrel with a splash. 

I turn to Mulder with a grin, "A lush even in death." 

He looks in horror at the twiggy legs folding over the barrel's edge. Her left hand is barely sticking out, cigarette still burning. His face turns to mine, outrage melting into simple rage. 

"You murdering sonofabitch!!" 

I give him a cool look, "She was a dirty whore. Consider it a benefit to society." 

When he screams, a little vein at the corner of his right eye strains. "WHO ARE YOU TO MEASURE MORALITY?" He launches himself at me, fisting my jacket in his hands, and pushes his face into mine. 

"You sick fuck!" He explodes me out from his chest in an hard push. I slip and fall backwards into the mud. 

"Who are _you_ to, Mulder?!" I spit at his feet, tired of his goddam ethics. 

Again, he's down and choking me. His other hand is pulling my hair back into the mud. I feel tears stream my eyes he's pulling so hard. I grit my teeth, trying to get my footing, but my boots are just making tracks into the Earth. 

"Mulder!" I yell, twisting and bucking. Something works, and his knee slips in the ground. I flip him over and punch him a good one in the face, just hard enough to get him to settle down. 

He shouts, turning his face away from me. I can see the mud print of my fist splattered across his cheek and I immediately regret doing it. 

I sit back a little, breathing hard, "Mulder. I'm sorry.." 

"Fuck you, Krycek!" 

"Bitch!" I yell at him, angry at myself for letting my guard down. 

He's sulking that I hit him, and he jabs, "Is that how you fantasize about me when you jack off?" 

I lunge down and bite his taunting lips. He jerks in the mud, ready to back away, and I sweep my tongue over his bottom teeth. Bringing my hand down to fist in his hair, I settle my weight onto him fully, pressing my erection against his. 

He moans, giving in, and I can feel his fingers smearing Earth across the back of my neck. I let go of his lip, breathing across his mouth. 

"I hate you," he mumbles. 

I sink my mouth into the juncture of his neck, sucking at the soft, pungent skin. He groans hard, pulling at my ear. I feel dirt and grass and rain water slide down the canal. 

His hips are rubbing against mine urgently, and I reach down between us. I push his jacket away and bite his nipple through his dress shirt. My hand trails further and works his zipper open. 

He groans my name and I'm filled with buzzing heat. I watch him as I yank his pants down to his thighs. His head is thrown back, and he's breathing quickly through moist, open lips. Hands on either side of his head, his fingers are flexing involuntarily. 

I work my muddy hand over his clothed erection, streaking his boxers with dirt and grass. His body responds to me, thrashing wantonly. His moans fill my ears. My head swims, and my dick is ready to explode. 

"Oh, fuck," I shut my eyes tight. This is _Mulder,_ and that alone is driving me insane. 

He lifts his head slightly, thrusting into my unmoving fist, and groans in a low voice, "Suck me, Krycek." 

He doesn't have to ask twice. 

I scuttle back over his thighs, far too eager to maintain any sense of decorum. Peeling his boxer shorts down, I lick my bottom lip in anticipation. I haven't seen his beautiful cock in so long. It's just like I remember it; that dark, musky color standing out of a mound of curly brown hair. I lean down, squishing my muddied hand over the base, and wrap my lips around the head. Mulder groans, his back arching like a bow, and I'm driven to probe the tip of my tongue into the slit. 

He loves it, just like he used to. 

Mulder's hands come down and press into the back of my head. His long fingers dig into the bottom of my skull, and he lets his left hand come down to paw my cheek. 

Pressing his thick cock into his belly with the flat of my hand, I lean down and nuzzle my nose into his nut sac. It's soft and warm and heavy, rolling across my face with that familiar itch of pubic hair. I groan, opening my mouth and darting my tongue across his balls. 

He rolls his head to the side, spreading his knees up and apart, and growls, "Krycek.." 

It's a plea and a threat all in one word. 

Popping his left nut into my mouth and sucking, I look up at him under my eyelashes. I'm more than happy to oblige him and I fist his ruddy cock, pulling it away from his belly. I start to jack him off while I tea bag his full balls. 

Mulder squirms, his mouth pressed tight and jaw locked, breathing heavy through flared nostrils. High pitched exhales escape his throat on each upstroke. After a good few minutes I've established a nice rhythm. My hand slams down and his hips jerk up. Hand down, hips up. Hand down, hips up. Suddenly I remember something, and I start flicking my thumb under his cock head. It's his sensitive spot. 

He barks, his mouth tearing open. I can see the entire pristine arch of his upper palate when he throws his head back and wails. His fingers dig into my head and scratch my scalp through my hair. 

My eye's start to roll back in my head, and I _have_ to have him down my throat. _Now_. 

I salve the flat of my tongue from the bottom of his balls all the way up to the tip of his pretty cock. Groaning his name, I close my mouth around him and suck hard. I can feel a trail of precum and spit oozing out from the side of my mouth and down my chin. 

I go insane, throating him with quick, desperate movements. His legs have fallen open like a comfortable dog, and he's moaning continually. I swirl my tongue around him on the upstroke, and it makes him jerk erratically. 

He hums my name and I force my heavy eyes open. He's rubbing his face wantonly into the Earth, caking his profile with mud. It's grotesque and beautiful and strangely erotic. 

My chest tightens, and I want what we used to have. I want to feel it slip over us like a familiar, worn mitten. There is something so easy, and so dangerous, about returning to an old lover. But, I don't care. I want him to call me Alex and look at me like he trusts me again. He'd kill me if he knew that. 

I give his dick a long, hard, cheek-hollowing suck on my way up. My eyes are closed in ecstasy and I'm groaning around him. I let him slip out of my mouth, spit still connecting his tip to my lips. 

He makes a whiny groan, and his hand flies to his cock, jerking it rapidly. 

I sit up on my knees, which are screaming in protest. I'm really getting too old for these impromptu blow jobs. I crack my back, leaning my head up towards the sky, and run my hand over my chest. Smooth shirt.. and then hardened nipple under silk. I pinch it, my hips bucking. 

Mulder hand's pull me forward by the hem of my pants, and I tumble slightly. Neither of us dare say anything. Neither of us dare look at each other. The spell could potentially break. I walk, on my knees, to straddle his waist. He pops the button off, and I'm frowning at it in the mud as he splits the two halves of my dress slacks. 

I'll never see these pants again. 

But then his hand is on my dick and the last thing I care about is my ruined clothes. _Mulder's hand_. Perpetually cold, but soft and long and unusually delicate for such a handsome man. 

I let my neck fall back and groan, pushing into his palm insistently. He doesn't give me what I want, the motherfucker. His hand draws away, and then comes back with only the faintest whisper of fingertips up and down the seam of my shaft. 

I open my eyes and make the mistake of looking into his. Those heavy lids are masking dark grey iris's, and black dilated pupils. I exhale hard, a desperate keening sound, and my lower teeth start to chatter. I feel as if my heart is exploding in my breast. 

His other hand makes a reappearance at my asshole, slick with mud. I startle for just a second, before leaning over him and pushing my ass into the air. 

"Slut," he murmurs, and I groan in response. 

Two muddy fingers slip past the tight ring of muscle. It's invading, but good. The mud isn't as great a lubricant as I'd like, so I start heaving backwards for friction. I'm humping myself on his prying, twisting fingers and it's _heaven_. He slips a third in, and splays them wide apart. 

"Oh, fuck!" I buck, my cock thumping against his belly. He arches his hips and presses his dick tightly against the crease of my thigh. I love the sound of his moan when it tumbles out of his lips. 

I lean down and bite the corner of his mouth, sucking his plush bottom lip and licking across his face sloppily. My tongue almost goes up his nose, and he jerks his face to the side. I can taste dried Earth in my mouth when he bites hard into my lips and makes tears sting my eyes. 

"Are you ready?" His words are surprisingly concerned. 

I thrust myself onto his hand again, trying to get him to reach my prostate. Maybe I am a slut. I nod, panting hard into the dewy air. 

I can't take much more. 

"Mulder," I beg. 

Thankfully, he pushes me back and doesn't do much more than grunt when I fall a little too heavy on his frame. Struggling with my pants around my shins, I crab walk backwards over his weeping cock. 

I steady myself, pissed my good-for-nothing prostethic isn't helping with my balance, and grip his root under me. His body shudders, but he tries to keep still. I sit back, slowly, and his tip is pressing against my hole. I inhale through my nose, and with a slow exhale I sink down. 

Not exactly porn material. I grimace and whimper as he pushes past my sphincter. It's so tight. He's splitting me apart. I feel fire spark down my spine, and blaze through my ass. 

"Oh, fuck," I hiss through my teeth. "It hurts." 

His hands come up and grip my inner thighs. Not gently, but with pressure. He lifts his knees a little and thrusts into me slowly. 

"Take it, Krycek." He's commanding me, and I open my eyes to watch his face. The intense pain in my lower back turns into a mixture of molten pleasure on some level. 

It hurts like shit, but its Mulder and that's good. 

"Breathe," he reminds me. He starts up a rhythm to get me started. 

I breathe, my head thrown back, and after three or four thrusts it doesn't hurt anymore. 

"I got it, Mulder," I growl, and sit forward. My hand splays across his belly and leaves a smeary handprint. I've got leverage, and I start hammering down onto him. 

My calves strain, my thighs begin to quake with stress, and my back is locking up.. but oh _yes_ is it good. 

We both sink into our own pleasure, our breath coming in matching pants. I keep riding him and smooth my hand up to his throat. I press my thumb into his windpipe, and his breath hitches. He squirms, his hips surging up to mine. I can feel his cock smashing into my intestines with new vigor. 

"More," he groans, baring his throat for me. 

I bring all my fingers to his throat, making sure not to press into his jugular, and tighten my fist around it. He wheezes and chokes, and I know he's out of his mind with arousal. 

"You're a.. sick fuck.. Mulder," I pant, clenching my ass muscles around his cock. 

He rasps, "Bullshit." 

I groan, bearing down on him and grinding. My legs are starting to get tired of holding my weight up. I start squeezing and releasing him as he bucks frantically, his orgasm rushing forward as his lungs cry out for air. 

I dig my fingers into the warm, gritty skin of his throat. He coughs, his hands coming up and gripping my shoulders. He's only mock pushing me away, because when I start to let up, he gurgles and leans his head back more. 

I glare at him, "Now who's the slut?" 

His hips are flying frantically, and it feels great to have his cock rooting around my innards. I moan, closing my eyes, and start humping onto him again with shallow thrusts. 

He cries out, a hoarse desperate cry, and I let go of his throat. He wails hard through gasping breaths, and I feel a warm gush of cum fill me up. I moan, screwing down onto him. 

"Yes, Mulder," I purr. 

He shudders, his hands falling away from my shoulders, and turns his head to the side. He's gulping in air, and I watch him writhe like a fish out of water. 

His dick softens, and I look over my shoulder regretfully. I sit up onto my knees, my calves thanking me, and let him slip out. Mulder is ignoring me, but I'm too close to let him take his sweet time. I scoot forward, gripping his wrist, and yank his hand to my dick. 

"Finish it," I insist. 

His fist tightens around me, and I moan. I don't need much. One, two, three hard strokes and I feel my balls draw up. I whine through my nose, my eyelids fluttering. His fist tightens around me, popping just my cock head back and forth through his squishy grip. 

I grunt, and my balls explode. I feel my fingers tighten in a death grip around his wrist as he pumps me off. And then there are spots in front of my eyes, and a rush of heat up my twitching cock. 

"FUCK! MULDER!" I hear my own scream ring in my ears and I'm shuddering hard, bucking my hips into his hand. 

The stars stop dancing in front of my eyes, and I pry them open. His hand is still working languidly over my pale member, covered in sticky cum. I moan, and try to breathe. 

Mulder continues to fondle my cock absently while he looks up at me. I let my eyes slide up to meet his, and we stare at each other. I expect him to start railing me about what this means for him and Scully. Or telling me what a murderer he thinks I am. I search his eyes, trying to prepare myself for whatever onslaught he has prepared. 

"We'd better get out of here," he says drolly. 

I'm taken aback. I keep my face neutral and nod dumbly. "Yeah," I mutter. 

He actually tucks me back into what's left of my slacks, and I watch his hands in bewilderment. For some reason it strikes me as funny. I just blew a woman's head off in front of him, committed adultery with him, and here he is tenderly dressing me. 

I shake my head, staring at him. He looks back at me calmly as he's wiggling into his pants. He's absolutely caked in mud. His suit is ruined. His hair is matted to one side of his head. My fist print is still smashed into the side of his face, and his left profile is completely covered in drying grey Earth. Even his eyelashes have heavy clumps of it clinging to them. 

And we're trying to maintain normalcy? 

I struggle to my feet, laughing under my breath maniacally. My balance is thrown off, and I slip and fall sideways into the bushes. It only makes me laugh harder. 

Mulder stares at me like I've lost it. 

"You've lost it, Krycek." 

I snigger and try to keep a straight face, but then _that_ seems funny and I start cracking up. He shakes his head, leaving me tittering as I wrestle the grape vines, and heads off towards the car. 

* * *

"Mmm," Scully hums erotically through moist lips, chewing slowly. She stretches back in her chair, popping her back, and laces her fingers to massage the roots of her hair. 

Her big blue eyes open and train on me, "If I see another chemical equation, I'm going to kill someone." 

She throws one elbow over her head, pulling her arm down towards her shoulder blade with her opposite hand. Her tailored green shirt pulls up around her belly, to reveal a bellybutton stud, and it occurs to me she must do yoga. Then she switches sides. 

We're sitting in Maykadeh; having our lunch Afghani style. Scully wanted ethnic. Mulder wanted Bob's Big Boy. I had no contest. We ended up pacifying him with my credit card to wander Fillmore and purchase furniture for Gibson's new apartment, which we'd dropped by earlier. He'd approved, but said it needed "flair." 

I stick my finger in my ear for the eleventh time this meal, attempting to clear out the sensation of sloshing mud. I went through half a box of ear swabs after my shower, and it still doesn't feel clean. 

Scully picks at her khoresht bademjan tenderly. "I think the rest of the team is beginning to get jealous I get to leave the batcave." 

I smirk, and she returns the expression. 

"Jealousy is a healthy emotion," I sip my hot tea. 

"You think so?" 

I look up, and she's serious. I was merely being glib. I blink, "It encourages one to strive harder for attention, doesn't it? The byproduct is beneficial." 

She's quiet a minute. And then, "You're full of shit, Krycek." 

I nod in agreement. Switching tactics, "I shudder to think what Mulder is spending my money on. Blacklight UFO posters and video games?" 

She quirks her mouth in a silly smile. I can picture her as a younger version of herself. Red pigtails, too many freckles, and a mouthful of braces hidden under girlish slumberparty giggles. I bet she used to play hopscotch. 

She tucks a strand of hair (that has fallen out of her tight pony-tail) behind her ear as she bites into braised lamb. "His taste isn't as bad as you think." 

I give her a skeptical look. 

"Seriously," both her eyebrows go up, and she smiles. "He's extremely cultured. He just prefers.." She falters, searching for the right words. "His own style. He likes Bach and Tai food like any other trendy, elitist snob." 

I catch the waiter's eye as he makes his water rounds. Turning back to her, "Extremely cultured? What's the best date he's taken you on?" 

Our waters are refilled as she thinks. The waiter leaves and she says, "Baseball." 

"Baseball isn't clamoring to the top of the 'most refined' dating list." 

She shrugs, thoroughly enjoying herself (which oddly makes me happy). "We're mostly a boring thirty something, sit-home-and-watch-movies couple. He took me to an arcade once." 

The look I give her makes her giggle under her breath slightly. "We wasted twelve dollars in quarters on Virtual Fighter." She presses her hand to her mouth to cover her sheepish smile, "I can't believe I'm telling you this." 

"Okay, fine." She challenges when I'm still not impressed, "Where would you take your lucky Romeo?" 

Either she's a better judge of character than I thought, or she did indeed spend her morning snooping around my apartment. That's fine. I suspected she would. I don't give her the satisfaction of looking taken aback that she's found me out. 

"Marseille. Le Panier, the old port, or maybe a stroll through the 19th- Century architecture of Canebiere. It's beautiful at dusk." 

She shoots me an incredulous look, "You're that familiar with Marseille?" 

"Rita and I went through on business several times." She arches her eyebrow at the mention of a woman's name. I give her a wicked grin, "Marita Covarrubius." 

That shuts her up. She blinks unevenly at me, and hunches her shoulders a little over her plate. The afternoon sun is filtering through the grimy glass at the front of the restaurant and playing at the wispy fly hairs framing her head. In the moments she isn't trying to play rough-and-tumble with the boys, she can look so fragile. It sets me off-kilter to see Dana Scully that way; I've only ever regarded her as an icy bitch not to be messed with. 

I'm starting to enjoy this new side of her. I regret baiting her defenses. 

"Virtual Fighter?" I keep my voice friendly. 

She holds up her hands as if her head has inflated three times it's size. "The game with the.. head mask.. that you see into?" 

I shake my head and sip my cooling khoresht fesenjoon. 

She sighs exasperatedly into the semi-empty restaurant and lets her hands fall to the champagne colored table cloth. Our silverware clinks. "You need to get out more, Krycek." 

I bristle, "Because I'm not familiar with an arcade game?" 

She arches an eyebrow and purses her lips. It's obvious I'm tense. 

"When was the last time you relaxed?" She's all doctor now. 

"I'm relaxed," I lie. It has nothing to do with the guilt of banging your boyfriend three hours ago, and now _enjoying_ lunch alone with you. I'm such a bastard. 

Scully spears a shriveled eggplant on her fork and brings it to her mouth, "What do you even _do_ to relax?" 

I have to think hard about it. 

"Read?" It's more of a question than a statement. Even so, I hope she buys it. 

"Reading requires imagination. It's not mindless. Not to mention the eye strain." 

I scowl, the line across my nose deepening. "I relax, Scully." 

She ignores my pissy tone. "As much as it goes against your morals, you should buy a TV. A few movies." 

I look disgusted. 

"If only to let your mind have a break once in awhile," she reasons. Of course she does, she's the reasonable Dr. Scully. 

I think about it, watching her eat. "What movies?" 

She looks up, trying not to appear too surprised. "Have you seen The Exorcist?" 

"Is that the one with 'redrum'?" 

"No, that's The Shining." She swallows a bite, "Also a good movie. But, The Exorcist is one of my all time favorites." 

I nod, the wheels in my head turning silently. 

Her cell phone chirrups in the coat pocket slung over the back of her chair. She digs around and flips it open with the practiced ease of nine years. 

"Scully," she barks. Her shoulders fall apart slightly and I know its Mulder. Her eyes relax when its him. Something I've noticed. 

I realize I'm staring and pretend to pick at a bowl of saffron rice. 

"What, right now?" She pauses. "Where are you? Hold on." 

She holds the phone away from her mouth and looks at me, "Mulder wants us to help him set up at Gibson's. Do we have time?" 

I have other things we need to do today, but nothing pressing. This is the beauty of being my own boss. "We can make time," I say vaguely. 

She gives me a fleeting look that suggests she might be tiring of my shadowed references, and goes back to the phone. "We'll be there as soon as we can." 

She hangs up without saying goodbye. Mulder does the same thing, from my experience. It's a really rude habit if you ask me. 

"So," Scully raises both eyebrows and sucks her top lip against her teeth. "Where are we going?" 

I wave for the check. "Russian Hill. I've set up a safe house for Gibson. Tonight, Mulder and I will work on buying him a new identity." 

"Witness protection program?" 

I sneer cheerfully, "Witness protection program, the Alex Krycek way." 

* * *

"One. Two. Three!" 

I turn around from stocking the vintage ice box with klondike bars, and watch Mulder and Scully drop the mattress onto the bed frame. Mulder lets go on two and it tilts. Scully hasn't quite let go and she stumbles, almost getting her arm trapped in the box spring. 

Mulder grins gleefully and she shoots him a dirty look. 

"What's the point of counting to three if you let go on two?" 

"Two is the yellow light of counting to three. You're allowed to progress with caution. Everybody lets go on two." 

"Nobody lets go on two, Mulder," she scowls, wiping the dust bunnies from her shirt. 

He points her towards the books that needs to be shelved and struts towards me. I watch him drop into a red diner-style chair and unwrap his San Francisco burrito. He splays out, completely oblivious, and ignores me with the casual simmering hatred I've come to expect. Shouldn't that have changed now? I let him fuck me- I gave him what we both have wanted for so long. And yet here we are, back to square one. I glare at him as he unwraps his dinner, getting globs of guacamole all over the table. He's such an arrogant prick. Of course things aren't different. It's his call when things change. Nevermind me. Fuck me. It's Mulder's world and we all revolve around him. 

"Jerk," Scully calls across the studio, favoring her elbow as she shelves an original copy of 'Peter Pan' next to the used textbook 'Nuclear Physics: The Method of Coincidence'. 

I snap out of it and drop the last of the junk food into the ice box, slamming it and scowling at him as he makes a mess of the burrito. I couldn't agree more with the little redhead. He turns, mouth full and leaking sour cream, and gives me a lazy, disdainful glance. 

I could snap his neck or try to regain some control of my irrational anger. I clamp down. Scully wouldn't be too happy if I murdered her boyfriend in a lover's rage. 

I keep my voice cool. "So, what made you go retro?" 

I actually like Mulder's decorating sense, but I would never give him the satisfaction of telling him that. There is even an old fashioned radio next to the bed, crooning a gurgled version of Sleepy King's 'Pushing Your Luck' at us. 

He wipes rice and cheese from his lip, and swallows. "Gibson is the reincarnation of Walther Bothe. He died in 1957. He digs retro, it reminds him of the good old days." 

I have a puzzled look on my face, and he matter-of-factly says, "His past life." 

I lean against the counter, exchanging a dubious glance with Scully as she overhears our conversation. 

"So, are we done here, Master?" I snarl at him, my peevishness showing around the edges. 

He looks around, chewing an enormous bite, and points to a black and green box near the television. "Blast fing," he mumbles. 

I sigh. There are times where I could really strangle the man. He's so fucking infuriating. Heading over and picking up the box, I can't believe it. I pick it up and show it to Scully. 

"Extremely cultured?" I point to the logo, "Xbox." 

She flushes and shrugs. 

Mulder calls from the table, "That baby got me through many a New Mexico night. Gibson is killer at FIFA World Cup." He brags to Scully, "I beat him once, 23-19." 

I rip open the box and sneer over my shoulder, "You must be so proud." 

* * *

Mulder is following me down the winding stairway as we descend into the depths of San Francisco's finest S &M club. I feel only slightly vindicated for the annoyance that has been crowding my mind all day at watching him squirm as we push past a bear in a leather studded mask. I push open a heavy wrought iron door, spray painted with a colorful mix of amateur pornography, and turn my head over my shoulder. 

"Make one wrong move, and we're fucked." 

He tightens his mouth and bites out, "Somehow I think you wouldn't mind that too much, Krycek." 

I turn more fully, glaring at him in the dim pulsing light of an upstairs strobe light. I'm tempted to split that pretty lip open. My hand tightens on the door handle, "Piss off, Mulder. You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Scully." 

He looks like he's about to rattle off some clever comeback, but he keeps it to himself and I watch his jaw twitch. Satisfied that he's shut up for now, I turn around again and push us through the door. 

He follows me down a nearly black hallway, lit only by the blacklight against the floor. We step around a cluster of men gathered around their tiny hand mirror. Mulder is surprisingly nonchalant about it for a G-man. 

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" 

I swivel my head towards the sound of the voice, instinctively putting Mulder behind me. I squint, and make out the outline of someone in the vicinity of the incredible hulk. 

"I need to talk to Angel about the Greatland." 

Silence. I can feel Mulder breathing against the back of my neck. 

"Okay." 

And then the hulk moves and another door cracks open, letting out a familiar greenish glow. I can hear the faint strains of Metallica. I grab Mulder's wrist and yank him through the door with me, and it slams behind us. 

Mulder blinks, his eye's adjusting to the glare of computer screens flickering all around us. I let go of his wrist, leaving him to his own destructive devices, and start wandering between the cheap metal shelves. 

"Angel?" 

"Yo!" I hear the squeak of a swivel chair, and then catch him gliding past my peripheral vision. I turn, returning the warm smile he's giving me. "Ras! Where you been, man!?" 

He gets up, embracing me, and I give him a friendly clap on the back. "It's been too long." 

"I have some great stuff for you, if you're interested," he nods enthusiastically, his dark pupils dancing loosely around his eyeballs. 

"I'm here on business tonight." I turn, searching for Mulder and finding him staring at us strangely. "This is my partner, Fox." 

"Hey," Angel nods towards him. Then turning back to me, "Business?" 

I smirk at Mulder's unmistakable scowl and then force my face blank. "I need a new identity. Tonight." 

Angel sits back into his chair, wheeling himself towards a nearby computer. I follow him and look over his shoulder as he opens a black-market program. 

"For you, or uh, the Foxman?" 

The aforementioned Foxman is now leaning over Angel's other shoulder, looking both shocked and thrilled as Angel begins hacking into the Social Security system. 

"Neither, a kid named Gibson Praise." I rifle in my pocket and pull out a scrap of paper, on which I've scribbled Gibson's social security number backwards. "I need the works, Angel. And I need it perfect." 

I flip the paper onto the desk, and he takes it without looking up. Mulder glances at me over his head as the towheaded kid mumbles into the screen, "Anything for you, Ras." 

I ignore the smirk Mulder is giving me about my nickname, and straighten up, shoving my hands into my leather jacket. 

"How long is this gonna take?" 

Angel stops, fingers poised over his keyboard, and looks off into space as he thinks. "How long you got?" 

I watch Mulder turn on his heel and start wandering the computer consoles, leaning over and squinting at a few downloads. With my luck, he'll touch something and we'll all be victims of a nuclear holocaust. 

"Better make it sooner than later," I reply, giving Mulder's back a sour look. I really do hate baby-sitting. 

Sure to my word, pornographic music and sultry moans blast out of a nearby television at ear shattering levels, and Mulder jumps about a mile. Angel looks up at me guiltily, and then over to Mulder. 

"Sorry!" Mulder shouts, quickly punching buttons to try and shut off the tape. I glare at him when he stands up and chews his lip in the ringing silence. 

"We got social security, birth certificate, school records, and..." Angel opens a new screen as I turn to admire his work, "I'm gonna create some backlog blockbuster accounts in Miami and Chicago, y'know, for authenticity." 

I crack him a minuscule smile, letting my icy mask down for just a moment. "Show off," I chide. 

He looks up at me with pleased blue-eyes, and we both hear a shattering crash at the same moment. 

"That didn't sound good," Angel states obviously, and gets up from his chair. I follow him. I can't see Mulder anywhere behind the metal shelving units, so I've got one guess where it came from. 

"Foxman?" Angel turns the corner around a dangerously stacked pile of stolen VCRs. "Oh, shit!" 

I'm one pace behind him, but it's long enough to interpret that profanity as trouble. I grab my sig from the back of my waistband, and pull Angel behind the VCRs before a blast of fire takes off a huge chunk of screaming metal. It goes flying past Angel's nose just before he crashes into me and we both fall onto the floor. 

"Get up!" I scream at him, scrabbling to my feet and yanking him by his collar. He stumbles behind me and I let off two shots for cover. **"MULDER?!"**

Where is that stupid fuck when I need him? 

A bullet goes whizzing past my ear and I decide to get my priorities straight. I stand up, throwing my body weight into the VCR stack, and take off at a dead run in the opposite direction as they cascade onto the shooter. 

I catch up to Angel, who is frantically saving his work to a disk. He looks at me with wide eyes, "What the fuck is going on, Ras?" 

"Shut up," I hiss at him, pushing him down below the desk and scanning the basement as best as I can. Goddamn shelves, I've got zero visibility. 

"Krycek!" 

I turn my head so fast I almost get whiplash. Mulder's voice is accompanied by an unsettling amount of crashing and glass breaking. He's letting me know his location. 

"Stay here, don't move," I push Angel under the desk and roll a chair in front of him, taking off past three rows of shelves on the opposite wall of Mulder's yelling. I figure I can make a loop around them. 

I turn, jumping over the body of the shooter, and then make another decision. I crouch over his body, breathing as quietly as I can through my nostrils, and pry his gun out of his hands. I shove my gun in my jeans, and lean up against the corner shelf. I can see Mulder and the second shooter about 10 yards ahead, with their backs to me. Mulder's got a gun to his head, the stupid ass. I half hope he _does_ get shot for being such a worthless backup. 

Crouching low, I stealth toward them about five feet, until my boot hits a scrap of shattered glass. Mulder's head turns for just a millisecond, and then the shooter starts to turn. I pounce, heaving into him with all my might, as his gun goes off next to my face. We hit the ground as an anguished scream reaches my ears. 

I jump to my feet over the shooter's back, and smash the butt of my gun into the back of his skull. I feel it crack and give way to soft brain mass under my knuckles. 

"Ras!" Angel gurgles, and I see his body slump over a bloodied computer chair. 

"MUDAK!!!" I scream at the unconscious body below me, my anger blossoming into vengeful rage. I stand up, gripping the gun in both hands, and aim it at the back of his head. 

"Krycek, no!" Mulder jumps in front of me, pushing my gun down. 

I glare at him, my lips curled back, "Get out of the fucking way, Mulder!" 

He gives me the same challenging look he gave me in the gulag of Tunguska. I'm breathing heavy, my anger swimming infront of my eyes, and he's completely calm. The moment between us seems to stretch forever. 

Finally, he says gently, "You already killed him. Let's just go." 

I let him pry the gun from my fingers and throw it on the floor. He turns to gather the disk Angel saved for me, and I stay motionless. Mulder stops shuffling, looking at me for what to do next, and I blink slowly. 

"Got any matches?" I growl, turning my head towards him. My body feels like it's in slow motion. 

We both hear movement behind the door, and Mulder springs forward. While he pulls TV carts infront of the door, I quickly find a can of lighter fluid next to a heap of broken molatov cocktails. My mouth tastes like bile as I squeeze a stream of gas over Angel and the assassin's bodies. 

"Come on, Mulder," I snap, trying to block out the look of regret that flashes across his eyes as he looks from Angel's body to me. I let him go past me, and continue dousing the equipment in fluid as we run towards the window. I make sure to spray the last of it over the third body, and chuck the can onto the floor. 

Mulder is wrenching off a window screen as I take out a lighter and throw it on the stack of ruined VCRs. A huge blue flame sparks to the ceiling, and then dies back down, following the trail of lighter fluid back into the basement. I turn to see Mulder wriggling out of the window, and hop onto a box of bootleg Japanese bukkake videos for a leg up. 

"Hurry up!" Mulder yells, squinting in the heat of the fire at my back, and shoving his arm through the tiny window. I grab on, wrapping my fingers around his upper arm, and get wrenched through the window. My boots scrape the wall as my prothestic gets caught and I have to rely on Mulder to drag me across the wet ground. He grunts, gritting his teeth, and falls onto his haunches. 

I scramble to my feet just as we hear the door crash in and shouting through the smoke billowing out of the basement. 

"Go!" I shout, yanking him up by his jacket as we both stumble into a run. 

* * *

Scully rips open the pant leg of my slacks without so much as an apology. This is the second pair of pants I've ruined today. 

"Stop moving," she orders, looking up at me from my lap. She looks tired, with large, purple rings under her eyes. Almost all of her hair has slipped out of her ponytail now. 

I clamp down on my nerves, trying to stop bouncing my legs. It only makes the furrow between my eyes deepen. I glare at the wall as her hands prod at the bleeding gash in my thigh. 

"And anyway, we're fine. We got the disk, and we got out," Mulder simplifies, trying to placate Scully from his perch atop a lab table. 

"No, you aren't fine," Scully challenges, tossing Mulder a maternal glare over her shoulder. "Krycek has a flesh wound, from some sort of glass, and neither of you are telling me how he got it... which really doesn't help me, because I've been stuck in this godforsaken building for _hours_ on end without so much as a phone call to tell me where you went." 

She tends to run on when she's angry. I cast her a glance, and she looks up at me like she's sincere. I can't take these two. They push all my buttons. I spring up suddenly, pushing her away, and stalk around the room. 

"More importantly, we're in deep shit," I announce, rhetorically, under my breath. "Someone knows about us." 

"Who?" Mulder asks, distracted as Scully gathers herself. 

"I don't fucking KNOW, Mulder, or I wouldn't have let it happen!" Scully comes at me with gauze, and I snarl at her, swiping her hand away. I turn, scowling towards the glass door separating us from the team of doctors in the other lab. 

I shout as loudly as I can, as I swing open the door, "It seems to me that we have a leak!" 

They all pause over their beakers and petri dishes and God knows what. I scowl at them all, making sure each of them has the fear of God in them. The adrenaline rush only makes me feel slightly better. I stalk through the group, ending up at a Dr. Hing's work station. I snarl at him, and swipe my arm over the chemistry set up. It goes crashing to the floor and I hear Scully shout my name in outrage behind me. 

"You think you can rat me out?" I purr, breathlessly, at him. 

"Krycek, stop it!" Scully and Mulder are getting closer. 

Hing lifts his chin defiantly, staring at me under heavy eyelids. I've had enough. I can almost taste his blood. I grab my gun and have it at his temple in one fluid movement, worthy of the Russian ballet. I pull the trigger with the most satisfying gust of air I've ever experienced. 

Just as silently as the shot that killed him, his body crumples at my feet. I inhale through my nose, and lick the blood splattered on my lip. 

"No!" Scully pushes me out of the way, rolling Hing onto his back and inspecting his head wound. 

"He's dead, Scully," I pant, the rush of adrenaline leaving me tired and weary as quickly as it came. 

She turns, giving me a murderous glance, tinged with sadness. She doesn't even have to say what's on her mind. I look to Mulder, and he too is glaring at me disdainfully. All is right with the world. Fuck this friendship nonsense, it was turning me on my head. 

"We need to get Gibson tonight," I state flatly. "Everything has been compromised." 

Scully stands up, only reaching my shoulder at full height. "No, absolutely not. You're both tired. And _you_ are acting out of turn. You need sleep." 

I look down at her big, brave eyes. I've just killed a man, gun still warm in my hand, and she still has the courage to stand up to me. I search her face calmly. 

"We're going. Mulder can sleep in the car." 

She stares at me another moment, until she knows I won't give in. She turns to look at Mulder, and he nods resignedly. 

"Fine then. I'm going with you." I start to protest and she snaps, "Don't argue with me, Krycek!" 

She steps over Hing, to Mulder, and they both turn their backs on me to go into the waiting area. I look around, and a couple of scientists are smirking. Glaring, I tuck my gun back under my jacket, and limp out of the room. 

* * *

I drop another duffel bag of medical supplies into the trunk, with the car light flickering in the rain. I look up at the dark sky, angry at it, too, for ruining my plans. Squinting as water rolls down my face, I turn my head to see a petite silhouette emerging from a street light. 

Scully jogs across the sidewalk to the street, ducking her head. "Mulder will be down with the rest in a minute. Get in the car." 

I give her a curious look, nodding to her arm tucked in her jacket. "What's that?" 

She licks rainwater off her lip, and wrinkles her nose. "I brought you some clean pants." With that, she pushes me towards the open rear door until I sit down out of the rain. 

I grunt a little, and she crouches down. "It'll only take a minute to dress this wound, Krycek." She says it so softly, without looking up, that I can't help feeling like the lion being tamed just long enough to pull a fast one. 

I nod, dripping water off my nose, and she begins to unbuckle my belt and pull off my slacks. This could be uncomfortable, if she weren't a doctor. 

"Hold still," she instructs, pouring a stinging liquid onto my leg. I breathe, expecting the hiss. It looks like she might be smiling a little in the street lamp light. "Mulder never does that well." 

I grunt, and her smile fades. She places a pad of gauze over my wound, and rips off two pieces of medical tape in her teeth. Pressing them onto my thigh to secure the gauze, she extracts my pants from her jacket. 

"How do you want to do this?" She asks, curtly, as if she weren't getting poured on sitting outside the car. 

I look at her under my eyelashes, and a little pain in my chest starts to develop. Just this afternoon she was laughing with me. It seems like a dream to remember it. 

"Get out of the rain," I command, pulling her into the car gruffly and slamming the door. She looks startled before the carlight goes out and I can no longer make out her features. "You're going to be wet the whole ride to San Diego." 

She doesn't say anything, but pushes her wet hair back and unfolds my pants. I wasn't expecting her to dress me, but it seems even more awkward to protest. I shift, wedging myself into the opposite door while Scully pushes off my shoes, and lift my hips. It's easily one of the most absurd things I've ever done, and I'm about to say something about it when she leans over to get my feet through the pant legs and her mouth is dangerously close to my lap. I shut up quickly, keeping my perverted mind to myself. But, then she pulls the pants up to my hips, and there is no mistaking the play of her fingers smoothing over the back of my thighs. I inhale sharply, lowering down into the seat by way of grazing my ass over her fingers, which clench instinctively against me. Her eye's catch mine, and we both know exactly what we're doing. 

A shadow sweeps over the headrest, followed by a weight being dropped into the trunk. Her fingers leave my body, and I quickly go back to dressing myself up right. 

Mulder opens the passenger side door, and sticks his head in, "I didn't know if you wanted me to bring juice or not!" He's shouting over the now heavy downpour. 

Scully looks up from her seeming contemplation of the window. "It's fine, Mulder. It won't be a long ride before we get him home. He won't starve." 

Mulder shrugs, playing off his obsessiveness, and sits heavily into the car. He slams the door, and wrenches around the seat. "What are you doing?" he asks me, curiously. 

I stare at him from the back of the car, pushing him back into his seat, and crawl over the gearshift into the driver's seat. Folding my legs under the steering wheel, I start the car and flip on the headlights through the rain. 

I turn my head towards him in the dark car interior. "You're dripping on the leather, Mulder." 

III. Abduco 

Mulder is snoring softly against the window, a line of drool illuminated by the dashboard glow. I check my rearview mirror once again, watching Scully try to juggle a jar of copper powder over a squirt gun. I would warn her about the turn coming up, but I don't want to wake Mulder. He really does need his sleep. 

I turn us to the left, maneuvering the car as smoothly as I can. I still hear a soft curse in the back seat. 

Scully exhales, scooping spilled powder into the plastic gun barrel. "Why do we even need this anyway?" 

I glance in the mirror at her. "For the supersoldiers," I say, quietly. 

She leans forward, lowering her voice to match my whisper. "They're weakness is iron, not copper, Krycek." 

I keep driving, watching the rain pelt the black road through our headlights. The soft hum of highway under the tires is lulling me into a relaxation I can't afford right now. I, too, am drained, as much as I loathe to show it. 

"When Jeffrey was still around, we encountered a supersoldier. Out of chance, I threw a handful of pennies at her as a distraction to get my gun." 

"You carry change?" Scully wonders aloud, interrupting my story. 

"I fired a whole round, and there was no effect, but the pennies had left burn holes in the soldier's flesh where they'd impacted. We managed to get away, but I didn't forget it." 

"Burn holes?" 

I nod at the mirror, and turn my eyes back to the road. "All I could find was that copper is exactly mirrored to iron on the periodic table. I don't know why it works, it just does." 

Scully holds up a squirt gun prepared with copper powder and water, and mumbles in the back seat, "You really think this will work?" 

I turn us into a dirt road which leads into the forest. "I never leave home without it." 

She sits back with an audible creak in the leather, sighing softly into the dark. We travel about 200 yards into the forest, surrounded by thick cover. I kill the engine, and sit quietly for one moment of rest. 

As if on cue, Mulder wakes up from his soft slumber and wipes the corner of his mouth. "Why did we stop moving?" he asks, his voice graveled from sleep. 

"Because we're here," I say, staring out the front window. 

He pushes himself up in the seat, and turns to look at Scully. The seat belt cuts into his neck, and he unlocks it. "You ready?" 

"As I'll ever be," I hear her say quietly. She hands him a squirt gun, and I see him give her a prize winning Mulder grin out of the corner of my eye. 

"Scully, this is neither the time nor place for a water fight," he kids. 

I look into the mirror again as I unbuckle my seat belt, and she actually smiles at his joke and presses her hand to his cheek. 

I turn around in my seat, as well, and address them both. "Scully, I need you to stay here and be our eyes. You'll have our map. Mulder will be wearing a two-way radio." 

Scully immediately turns and starts rummaging through a duffel bag. 

I turn to Mulder, "I don't want this to take more than 10 minutes once we get in. Fifteen maximum. They'll move fast, and won't hesitate, if we get caught." 

"I know," Mulder nods. I flash back to the fear on his face as he ran towards the door at Mount Weather, and I know he knows. I nod back. 

Scully turns on the car light and we all look at the map. 

"Gibson should be in one of the sick bays, which are around here," I say, pointing at the map in her hands. 

"Which one?" Mulder looks up at me. 

"It's impossible to know until we get there. Get the radio and lets go." I turn around, jerking the door open and sliding out into the fat globs of rain coming from the canopy. I see the shadows of Scully putting Mulder's radio in his ear, and move to open the trunk when they share a kiss. 

I yank it open and unzip a black bag, pocketing small explosives in my coat pockets. Mulder gets out, and I hear the door shut. 

"Carry this for me," I say to him, exchanging him a bomb for a squirt gun. He gives it a glance in the low light, unsure of what it is, and slips it in his pocket. 

"Let's get this show on the road," he mumbles, as we both turn for the forest and head out. 

We emerge at the clearing I expected, a good 50 yards from the back of the complex. No fences to contend with, I turn to look at Mulder. 

"I guess we'll just run," I say, half-asking. 

He squints at the open field in the rain, and shrugs at me. "I guess we will. Ready? One... two..." 

He doesn't need to say three, we both take off sprinting as fast and low as we can over the slick grass. He almost slips a few times, but we end up colliding with grey mortar intact. 

Mulder is panting as I slide my hands over the wall in the dark, leading us to a doorway. I stand back and Mulder curses. 

"How are we supposed to get in with no door handle, Krycek?" he hisses at me. 

"Give me the thing in your pocket," I demand, ripping it from his fingers when he pulls it out. "Stand back." 

He backs up a few feet and crouches as I pull the gum away and smash it on the door. I run about three paces and drop to the ground when I hear a small pop, and then the hiss of flames being put out by the rain. 

Mulder looks at me, slightly impressed in his boyish way. We both get up and head through the door. 

"Scully, talk to me," he whispers, leading us down a dark corridor. He stops for a moment, and I collide softly with his shoulder. He looks at me, listening to Scully, and doesn't even seem to notice. 

"Scully says we need to go to the end of the hall, and make a left towards the operating ward." 

I nod, pushing him forward. We get to the end of the hall, and Mulder peeks around the corner. He nods at me to signal that we're clear. 

"I'll cover you. Go first, you have the directions in case we get split up," I whisper, nodding at his ear piece. 

Mulder agrees, but I can't help noticing the worried look in his eyes. Does it actually bother him that I might not make it? I push the thought out of my head and swivel into the hallway, squirt gun in hand. The place is a ghost town. A long, empty hallway with eerie green halogen lighting stares back at me. I wave my gun hand at him, and he takes off behind me until I hear him yank open a stairwell door. I cast one more glance at the hallway, listening close for footfall, and turn after him. 

The heavy door closes behind me, and I stare at Mulder ascending the stairs. 

"How much further?" 

"Three flights," he whispers from above me. 

I catch up to him faster than he can climb, and beat him to the third floor landing. I peek through the small window at a brightly lit hallway, and we're clear. 

"Does it seem odd to you that nobody is home?" Mulder asks. 

"Very," I say to him, and push the handle on the door. Just as I turn my head back around, I look up to see a very pissed of soldier in my face. Mulder makes a startled noise behind me, and I yank the door closed as fast I can. 

"Shit!" Mulder pulls me to the side as a fist rips through a 3 inch door of solid metal. 

"Shoot him," I say, and jump in front of the door as he crashes through. For one brief moment, when his eye's meet mine, my chest constricts with fear. And then Mulder pops up over his shoulder, and sprays the entire left side of his face. The supersoldier drops to his knees, unable to scream as his vocal chords burn into nothingness. We watch him clutch at the last of his head in awe, and then run past him. 

I'm pounding down the corridor after Mulder in a blind run. "Where the fuck are we going, Mulder?" 

"It's just another left," Mulder says, stopping at a corner. 

I flatten myself to the wall next to him and pant, "Did Scully say that?" 

He peeks around the corner, "Photographic memory." 

I hear a soft buzzing coming from his ear piece, and a faint smile tugs at his lips. Then he sobers, drawing up against the wall and leaning his head back. "We've got a guard posted." 

Dammit. I almost tell Mulder to move over, when I see the hallway reflected in a glass window across the hall. I can see three doors, the middle posted with a guard in military uniform, no weapon. I almost comment to Mulder when suddenly two eyes, with dark glasses, peek over the edge of the middle door's window. 

Gibson knows we're here. 

Mulder is looking at me for what to do. I think fast, "We can't make it if he sees us coming. We need a distraction. Follow this hallway back and come at him from another angle." 

"Or," Mulder says, chewing his lip and looking over his shoulder again, "Gibson can do it for us." 

Gibson must be listening in close, because we hear a pounding before Mulder has even got it out of his mouth. 

"HEY! I'M HUNGRY!" Gibson's voice is muffled through the door he's pounding on. 

Mulder and I both peek around the corner to watch the soldier get up, already looking very annoyed. 

"Shut up!" He growls out, but Gibson only pounds and screams louder. He's been here long enough to know these guys have very little patience. It does the trick. The soldier's temper snaps and he smashes his fist through the door, trying to grab at Gibson's shirt. "I said SHUT UP!" 

I push Mulder as hard as I can and we both run forward, spraying a double arc of copper-water onto the solider. He turns, arm still through the bolted door, and looks caught off guard. He's about to get up and grab for us, too, until he looks down at his dissolving legs. He starts to scream for help, but Mulder promptly shoots him through the mouth and the back of his skull burns out. 

"Gibson," Mulder rushes forward, kicking the body out of the way and looking desperately at the padlock. "What's the code!?" He looks at me for help, and I notice a red dot on his jacket. 

Following it back to its origin, I realize the keypad is laser activated. The solider must have bent the metal door so severely, that the laser could no longer line up with its site. 

"What's the code, Krycek!?" Mulder grabs my jacket, wrenching it in his fist, just as Gibson pushes the heavy door open. 

Mulder stares at him, and then back at me, and lets go of me. "How did you do that?" 

"We don't have time to explain," Gibson mumbles, his voice cracking. "We need to go. Hurry." 

I pull him over the soldier's body blocking the door, and push him forward to get him to start running. "Do they know we're here?" 

"Yes," Gibson says over his shoulder as we pound down the hall, and then stops when Mulder wrenches open the stairway door. "No wait. We can't go this way. They're coming." 

It does help to have a mind reader on your side. 

I slam the door shut from Mulder's fingers, as he frantically yells, "Scully!? What are we gonna do here!?" 

I look frantically at the hallways in front of us and to our left. Then it occurs to me. I look up, following the ventilation system at a jog, until I find a vent. 

"Hurry up," I wave Mulder over. "Give me a leg up." 

Mulder looks around nervously and crouches down. Putting my foot in his hands, he boosts me long enough so I can stick two bombs on the sides of the vent. He drops me down, grabbing Gibson and laying on top of him. I duck a little too late. Two loud pops go off, and a scrap of metal nicks me across my temple. 

"Go, go," I mirror Mulder's stance, blood mixing with sweat in my eye, and boost Mulder one-handed towards the vent. He's much heavier than he looks. I grunt as he pulls himself into the vent. While he turns around to hang his arms out, I grab Gibson. I can hear the soldiers running up the last flight of stairs, and turn my head as Gibson's tennis shoe goes past my vision. 

The stairway door flies open, and two soldiers menace towards me. 

"Krycek!" Gibson yells down. 

I back up, pulling my gun on the closest solider. "Run!" 

In the moment it takes to douse the first soldier, the second swipes at me and cuts off my prosthetic. I stare at him, and he stares at me, for only a split second before I feel a searing pain in my abdomen. 

I look down and the dying solider has left a trail of claw marks across my hip. 

* * *

Gibson sank into the warm leather of the car, huddling up to Scully's body. 

"Oh my god, Mulder. Look at him! He's emaciated," Scully pulled Gibson's T- shirt over protruding ribs and distended stomach. 

Mulder slammed the front door, breathing hard. He turned, flipping on the car light. Each of them squinted. 

"Have they been feeding you?" Scully used her gentlest doctor voice. 

"Supersoldiers don't need to eat," Gibson monotoned, ashamed to look Mulder in the eye. He pulled his shirt down quickly, embarrassed in a prepubescent way. 

Mulder, too, was embarrassed for him and turned instead to look out at the pitch forest. Scully rummaged through the duffel bag quietly, searching out moonpies and tortilla chips, almost afraid to say what was on both of their minds. 

She handed them to Gibson, who ripped into the plastic wrappers with flourish, and raised her eye's to Mulder. "What do we do now?" 

Mulder's jaw twitched as he watched Gibson wolf down the chocolate covered marshmallow pie. After a moment, his voice devoid of emotion, he said, "You'll have to drive. I don't know the way back." 

"Krycek will drive," Gibson stated around a dry mouth of junk food. 

Both Mulder and Scully turned to look at him. 

"Gibson," Scully placed her hand on his knee, "I don't think Krycek made it." 

"Yes he did. He's coming right now." Gibson looked from the skepticism on Scully's face, to the thinly masked hope on Mulder's. "He thinks you left without him." 

* * *

I wipe at the blood running down my face and push through a nettle bush. I would care that the sharp thorns rip open the healing skin of my thigh, but the pain roaring through my gut drowns it out. My head is swimming in a throbbing, cloudy ache. 

Please let them be there. 

I stop, just a second, to inhale a lung full of air, and run, albeit limpingly, towards the location of the sedan with my last ounce of energy. I pass a large, mossy tree trunk and there it is. My salvation. I've never been so happy to see a car in my life. 

The passenger side door pops open, and Mulder jumps into the rain, coming towards me. He gets to me faster than my senses can process, and wraps an arm under my stump. 

"We thought you were dead," he says into my ear, and I can hear an apology in there somewhere. 

I look up at him, trying my damnedest not to let him carry my weight, and blink the rain out of my eyes. "So did I," I admit. 

He helps me back to the car, but I don't give him the satisfaction of letting me in. I slide into the seat by myself, leaning my head back against the headrest, and swim in and out of consciousness. 

* * *

I open my eyes slowly, achingly. My eyelids feel like they weigh ten pounds each. I groan when light floods my pupils and raise an arm to shade them. 

"Easy." 

Scully's voice. A hand on my arm. 

I turn my head towards the voice, and even that hurts. I close my eyes again, willing the pain to dissipate with sheer mental force. 

"You lost a lot of blood, Krycek." 

I crack my eyes open. It's a little easier this time. Scully's face blurs and then comes into focus. 

"Thirsty," I croak, hating to state the obvious. I sit up to get the glass of water next to my bed, and a white hot pain slashes through my temple. "Augh, fuck!" 

She pushes me back down onto my pillow, and I don't fight. I even let her press the glass to my lips, and drink the cool water. I watch her set the glass back down on my night stand, and it occurs to me we're in my room. On my bed. 

"Where's Mulder?" 

She tucks her hair behind her ear. "He's with Gibson at the apartment. We're switching shifts until tomorrow morning." 

I nod, trying not to jostle my head too much. 

"I have you for another two hours," she says, awkwardly, like she's trying to make small talk. 

I look at her, not in the mood to beat around the bush, and let it show on my face. Perhaps that was a mistake. Her hand comes up and tightens around mine, over my chest. 

"Krycek. I want to thank you." 

Oh. 

She keeps my eyes locked to hers. As much as I want to, I don't look away. "For helping us get Gibson back. For rekindling Mulder's passion to fight the future. For reminding me why I loved him." The last part she drops off quietly, but her eyes don't waver. She gives my hand a tiny, almost-cold squeeze, and lets go. 

I don't say anything, and the silence stretches between us. 

"I'll go make you some tea," she offers, getting up without knowing if I even want any. 

When she disappears into the hall, I turn my head into my pillow and whisper a childhood anecdote to myself, "Posle shtorma pridyot horoshaya pogoda. Posle grusti budet shast'ye." 

With that, I let the pain lull me back to sleep. 

* * *

I feel the bed dip dangerously low and my eyes spring open. My breath hitches in an incredibly dry throat, and I cough, squeezing my eyes shut again. I feel flush and fevered. I'm sticking to the sheets with sweat. 

I groan, and swallow painfully, "I feel like shit." 

"You look like shit," Mulder's voice quips. 

I crack my eyes open at him. "What happened to Scully?" 

He looks incredibly bored and put upon, and says, "She left awhile ago. Said you passed out on her." 

I nod and start to close my eyes again, welcoming more rest. 

"So, what happened when we split up?" Mulder sits forward, dipping the mattress again. 

I should have known he wouldn't let me fall back asleep. I glare at him like he's a child, and he just raises his eyebrows like I'm taking too long answering him. 

"I need a drink," I say, purposefully putting him off, and use my best acting skills to reach pathetically toward the night stand. I drop my hand weakly on to the sheet for effect. 

He scowls at me, but it still works. Pity prevails and he gets my glass. I sit up a little, and he holds it to my lips. He isn't as good at this as Scully. He tips it way too far and I almost end up drowning. 

I cough, pushing the glass away angrily, "Jesus Christ, Mulder." 

He smirks, setting the glass down, and says, "What happened to the 'poor me' act?" 

The anger fizzles out of me and I know he's caught me. "Fuck off," I say, about to turn over and go back to sleep. 

He catches my arm, pulling me back to face him, and moves into my space. I can smell aftershave and sweat on him. 

"Actually," he says, his hazel eyes falling to rest on my mouth, "I'd rather fuck _you_." 

I shudder, despite myself. More than anything I want to tell him no. I won't let him use me as a fuck toy again. I won't let him have his way, and then treat me like shit again. I won't. I won't. 

His mouth, molten hot, licks the trail of spilled water up my chin to my bottom lip. He darts his tongue out, prodding between my lips, and parts my mouth with a soft sigh. 

I will. 

I sigh into his kiss, giving in, and raise my hand to cup his neck. My fingers are cold and the soft hair there stands up on gooseflesh. I can't help raking my fingers through the short, feathery hair at the back of his skull. Mulder's hair is so soft. So addicting. 

He isn't one for tenderness, though. Mulder's mouth becomes hard and forceful. His seduction is over. He knows I'm hooked, so he pushes me down onto the mattress, casting away any of my fantasies of foreplay. I look up at him, my hand falling away from his skin. His eyes are unforgiving and full of dreamy, wet desire. His mouth is tense at the corners, but red and bruised from our kissing. It strikes me, as he moves his hand down my abdomen, that this is the dichotomy of us. 

Mulder's fingers push past my shorts and find my cock. He squeezes the head, rubbing himself against my hip, and my eyelids flutter shut. I couldn't stop this if I wanted to. Scully gives me tenderness. Mulder gives me sex. Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown. 

His hand tapers down over my shaft, licking at my sensitive skin. 

"Mulder," I groan low, barely moving my lips. It's almost not even a word- just syllables strung together in lust. 

He pushes his knee under my thigh, and rolls me onto my side. The sensation of trapping my left arm under my body tingles against severed nerve endings. Then, while his hand works over me, his fingers press at my sphincter. They're cold with his spit and I hiss. 

"There's lube," I remind him. 

"Where?" 

"In the drawer." I lay completely still on my side, save for my shallow breathing, while his warmth leaves me. I can hear the soft metal clink of his belt coming undone behind me. 

Then, his palm is pressing my cheeks apart, and two slippery fingers insert into my anus as gently and erotically as a routine prostate exam. I writhe onto him, pressing back wantonly, forcing myself open. He pushes his pants down around his thighs and I hear him inhale as he strokes himself lightly. He runs his cock along my crack as he finger fucks me, and I feel a smear of pre- cum drop onto the dimples of my back. 

"Go ahead, Mulder," I say, spreading my legs apart for him under the comforter. 

His nose grazes against the corner of my neck as he scoots in, and he rakes his teeth over my skin as his dick presses against me. I raise my hand over my shoulder and scratch my fingernails over his scalp as he pushes in. I hold my breath, digging my feet into the mattress to force myself onto him further. I want to feel him all the way in my guts. I grip the back of his hair and whine through my nose, and he answers me in a drawn out groan. And then he hits it. That wonderful place of melted pleasure. I jerk, crying out through gritted teeth, while my cock jumps. 

"Do that again, Krycek," he mumbles against the back of my neck. His hips pull back and he pulls mine up with him. Driving downwards into me, he presses right into my prostate. 

"Ah, Mulder," I croon. My hand drops from his hair down to reach back and clench his ass. I try and pull him harder into me. "More. Please." My breathing is shallow, and I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage. 

I feel his teeth sink into the back of my neck, followed by burning lips and salving tongue, and he thrusts into me over and over again. Each time fireworks go off in my balls, sparking up to the tip of my cock. I squirm as he holds me in place, my fingers digging harder into his ass. 

I can't take it anymore. "Mulder!" I plead, fucking back against him frantically at the difficult angle. 

He flips me onto my belly quickly. My shoulders are pinned to the mattress, with my ass in the air, and he fucks me hard. It's such a relief. The harder he pounds against me, the more the pressure builds. I can feel it coming. I sigh and groan into the cotton sheets, reaching below me to jack off. 

"Krycek," he groans my name, his fingers tightening against my hips. 

I rub my face along the bedspread, pretending its his skin as he moans my name. With that, I feel my spine bend and shudder. I squeeze my cock hard, yanking up, and my warm cum spills out over my fist. I make a sound somewhere between choking and humming as my jism pulses out of me. 

He fucks me faster, the bed creaking on its springs from his exertion. I can hear him panting with effort. I imagine his moist mouth, with gleaming lower lip pouted out, parted just a touch, as he makes noises of pleasure behind me. And then he makes that graveled "huhn" sound, drawn out through the base of his throat, and I feel him jerk into me. His cock dances in my belly, leaking hot cum to dribble along my intestines. I moan, clenching my ass around his shaft, until he pulls out and rolls over to sit on the edge of the bed. 

I turn my head and watch as he pulls his pants up again. He casts me a glance over his shoulder before staring at the wall. 

Running his hand through his hair, he stands up and says towards the hallway, "You'd better get some sleep, we have a big day tomorrow." 

I watch him trudge out of my room, shoulders slumped, and disappear around the corner. 

* * *

I'm on my fifth cup of coffee today as I watch Gibson beat Mulder in their umpteenth game of Poker. 

Mulder scowls at the cards laid out on the middle chair between them. 

"It's not fair if you cheat," he pouts at the pre-teen. 

Gibson happily eats his winnings: a mini-butterfinger. "I'm not cheating." 

I turn and glance at the security monitors behind the front desk, carefully scanning each flickering blue screen for movement outside of the lab. I hear Mulder drawl, "Then how do you keep winning?" 

Sipping my coffee, I look at him over the large, oak desk. "Maybe you're really bad at Poker." 

He scowls at me, shuffling the cards once again. He'll play until he wins. Gibson reads Mulder's mind, and his eyebrows arch over his glasses rims. He turns to cast me a flushed face over his shoulder. I give him a thin smile. I know exactly what's going on in Mulder's mind that would make a fourteen year old blush. 

I hear a door open, and Scully's foot falls as she walks into the waiting area. We all turn to face her. She looks tired and exhilarated at the same time. We've been here since 5am, running Gibson in and out of the lab rooms all day. Each time I think Scully is going to come out with something solid, she's just in need of another test. 

I finish my coffee, preparing for another couple hours of waiting. 

"We're ready." She looks at Mulder, her eyes glittering with excitement. "But, I have something you aren't going to want to hear," she says, turning to me. 

"What?" 

"We need to infect a fetus with the black oil before we can test the anti- virus. I don't want to endanger anyone to it's effects unless we are positive the anti-virus can work. Something can always go wrong." 

I give her a look that suggests she get to the point. 

"I want to use someone who has previous exposure to the black oil," she states, tentatively, and licks her lip. 

I can feel my pulse begin to race already. "Mulder has exposure too, why not use him?" Yeah. He wasn't trapped in a silo with it, either. 

Gibson zeros in on Scully as he picks up cards from the chair. "She won't put _him_ in danger," he says, aloud, to no one in particular. 

We all look at him, and I swallow the lump rising in my throat. I don't want my fear to show through, so I get up, discarding my Styrofoam cup casually, and stalk towards the labs. 

"Just tell me where you want me," I say, pushing past Scully. 

The three of them follow me through the door, with Scully leading the rear. 

"We have a room set up in the back. All of us will be waiting behind the glass. All I need you to do is transfer the oil to the fetus, and get out. Don't touch anything if you can help it," she gives me an warning glance as we all stop to join the group of nervous doctors. 

"No problem there," I deadpan, turning to open the glass double doors. "Here goes nothing." 

I walk into the stale lab and shut the doors behind me, avoiding eye contact with the group behind the glass. Scully has set out a glass jar with a still born in it. I walk towards the black table, rounding it, and place my fingers on the table top. Two inches away is what looks to be an ordinary coffee thermos. My blood begins to rush in my ears, but I force myself to stay calm. I pop off the top, setting it on the counter, and begin to unscrew the lid. I'm holding my breath and I don't even know it. 

I stare at the dark hole in the top of the container. I can feel it. The air changes. Everything in my body is screaming to get out of here. I grab the thermos and tip it over the jar with the fetus. Slowly, black oil drips into the formaldehyde. My heart is racing, praying it doesn't decide it likes me better and make a U-turn. Three more drops, and I set the thermos down. Grabbing the lid as fast as I can with one hand, I screw it on tight. 

I cast a glance towards the team across the room, and meet eyes with Gibson. He blinks, tightening his mouth, and it feels somewhat reassuring. Looking back at the little jar, I watch as the black oil congeals onto the fetus. The slimy worms invade its nostrils and eyes, and then there is nothing. I take a step forward, ready to leave the room, when it moves. 

I've seen a lot of things. Things that would make ordinary men go mad. Each time, I find myself not afraid, but fascinated. I watch the little body twitch and squirm in the jar. Even it's mouth pries open and gapes. I stare at it, my body unmoving. And then it's eyes slide open, pitch black, and train on me. It knows me. 

I tear my eyes away and make my way for the door as quickly as possible without seeming rattled. Pushing through the door, I turn to Scully, "Go." 

She and the doctors rush forward, and I turn to join Mulder and Gibson. We stand there and watch as monitors and computers get flipped on while Scully barks orders. I'm watching her prepare a syringe when I feel eyes on me. I turn and look down at Gibson. He's staring at me with his usual face; curious and detached. And then he does something I don't expect. Gently and discreetly, away from Mulder's vision, he holds my hand. Neither of us smile or acknowledge it in any way. Instead, we turn back to watching the proceedings. 

Scully is injecting the anti-virus into the fetus. Slowly, the syringe drains, and she stands back. 

"Protein levels?" I hear her voice, strangely muffled to match her mouth, ask a nearby scientist. 

After a moment, he looks up. "We've got progress!" 

The rest of the team erupts in congratulatory cheers as Scully stands, arms crossed over her chest and brow furrowed, watching the oilean pour from the fetus and dissolve into the formaldehyde. She looks up at us, her eyes ending with Mulder's, and gives a small sigh with a smile. 

* * *

Gibson is drooling onto my leather jacket when I look at my watch. It's just about four-thirty in the morning, and Scully has just emerged from the labs again with more results. I watch her whispering to Mulder, her hands hanging loosely in her white lab coat pockets. I look down at the top of Gibson's head as he sleeps against my side. 

"Looks like you made a friend despite yourself," Scully nods towards me, with her idea of a joke. 

I ignore her, giving her a sour look. "What's the news?" 

Mulder hands Scully the last of his warm coffee, and a sticky bun from the vending machine. She sips the coffee, "Well. So far we've tested the vaccine against breast cancer, a strain of HIV, and two forms of the flu. All came back cured." She says it with the air of awe and not-quite-belief. 

I nod, not surprised in the least. "I told you," I say, including them both in that statement. 

"So, what do we do now?" Mulder asks, taking the sticky bun when Scully can't open it, and tears the corner for her. 

"Well," Scully chews, getting frosting on her lip. "We don't have nearly enough supplies to manufacture the vaccine in mass quantity, not to mention the cost of that process alone. Demand will undoubtedly surpass supply, we can count on that." 

"We're going to need to notify the people." Mulder is thinking out loud, not really hearing Scully. "We should alert the press, and then start talking to the proper venues. We'll need to keep the government on a short leash." 

I hold up a hand to stop both of them. "Don't worry about anything. I've got it all planned out. What needs to happen is to get you two back to Washington, this morning. You're in danger if you stay here." 

They both look at me like I'm insane. 

"You want us to leave you with the vaccine, just like that?" Mulder's voice is full of contempt. "We're just supposed to _trust_ you?" 

I glare at him, casually. "I will get back to Washington as soon as everything is ready, and give you both copies of the vaccine." 

I look up at Scully, who looks doubtful. "I'll bring all of the research with me, and hand it over to you. You can do whatever you want with it. Like I promised." 

"And what was in all of this for you, Krycek? The pleasure of our company? We're supposed to believe you're so noble?" Mulder gets up, staring down at me. 

I look at him, my face as sincere as I can ever be. "What was in it for me was getting back at the men who destroyed me. Preserving the work. Fighting the future. I don't want to die for that black-lunged, son of a bitch either, Mulder." 

Scully's face softens, and she turns to Mulder, pressing a hand to his arm. Gibson sniffles into my jacket, and she whispers, "Come on, Mulder. Help me get my things." 

* * *

"What can I help you with, Mulder?" Skinner said, shutting the door to his office as Mulder rushed by him with his visitor tag flapping. 

"I'm worried about Gibson." Mulder shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest in front of Skinner's desk. 

"Agent Scully has informed me that Gibson Praise is doing quite well." 

"He is," Mulder watched Skinner sit heavily into his chair. "It's come to my attention that the checks Gibson are receiving as part of his living allowance are being forwarded from one Rousch, Incorporated." 

"Rousch?" Skinner wrinkled his forehead. "We've dealt with them before. You believe Gibson's safe house has been compromised because of this?" 

"No. What I'm saying is that Krycek manipulated us. He _used_ Gibson to lure Scully to San Francisco and get him the anti-virus, and the rest has been cover. Gibson's money is coming from dirty money Krycek acquired to sell the cure on the market. He has no intention of returning the anti-virus, or the research, to us." 

Skinner sat back in his chair, tensing his neck, and looked to the side. "You can be sure of this?" 

"No. That's why I'm here. I was hoping you could use bureau resources to find Krycek and bring him in." 

"You know where he lives. Why can't you do that yourself?" 

Mulder's jaw twitched with annoyance, and he leaned over Skinner's desk. "I don't have those sort of options right now." 

"How long has it been since you last saw Alex Krycek?" 

Mulder soured. "Six months." 

Sighing, Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Mulder, you know that's too long to launch any sort of manhunt. Maybe if you or Agent Scully had come to me sooner--" 

"You won't help us?" Mulder barked, incredulously. 

Skinner stood to his full height, putting his glasses back on, and raised his voice, "Mulder, you know I can't do anything for you. You're out of the bureau. I would if I could, but I can't." 

"The fact is," he continued, "Gibson Praise is safe and doing well, according to Agent Scully, because of Alex Krycek. Without any sort of danger to his person, _I_ have no power to do anything." 

Mulder pursed his lips, glaring, and turned to storm out of Skinner's office. 

* * *

Scully juggled two pizza boxes as she worked the key in the lock. "You have to admit he has a point, Mulder," she said, pushing the front door open with her knee. 

"How are we ever going to bring Krycek to justice if we don't have the means?" Mulder shut the front door behind them, carrying a six pack of Heineken. 

Scully flipped on the dining room light, about to retort, and stopped. 

"Mulder, look." 

"What?" he said, coming up behind her. 

On the dining room table there laid a stack of zip disks, neatly numbered, along with two shining CDs. One labeled "Mulder" and the other "Scully." A thin slice of paper, crisply folded, was taped to a DVD box of The Exorcist. 

"I don't believe it," Scully slid the pizza boxes onto the table, picking up the note. She began to read aloud as Mulder rifled through the disks. "Here is your research, and two copies of the anti-virus formula. I have back ups should you ever need them. Please reassure Mulder that this information is only known to the three of us. Scully- The Exorcist was great. Signed, Alex." 

Mulder stared at Scully over the edge of the note. "What do you think it means?" 

Scully set the note down on the table, looking at all of the disks laid out before them. Silently shutting her mouth, she gave a small smile up at Mulder, and picked up their pizza, again. "You know, Mulder, I think it means that we should devote our night to pepperoni and Linda Blair." 

  * Translations ____________Tempestas: (Latin) Storms Sacrificum: (Latin) Sacrifice Abduco: (Latin) [To] Withdraw "Ong ba co bia khong?": (Vietnamese) "Do you have beer?" "Toi mua cai nay": (Vietnamese) "I'll buy it" Krasivy malchik: (Russian) Pretty boy Mudak: (Russian) Mother Fucker (slang), Bastard "Ya tebe nikogda ne vryu": (Russian) "I would never lie to you" "Bolshoe spasibo za pomoshch": (Russian) "Thank you for your help" "Polse shtorma pridyot horoshaya pogoda. Posle grusti budet shast'ye": (Russian) After a storm, [comes] fair weather. After sorrow, [comes] joy.
  * Translations ____________



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